


I Know Who I Am

by Wintercameandwent



Series: That's Not Me, Until I Had To Be [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Angst, Ayra & Sansa had a good relationship, Character death: Sansa died in childbirth in part 1 of this series, F/M, I don't hate Daenerys but in this universe her plan didn't work, Implied Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Death in Childbirth, Jon and Daenerys are married but unhappily, Jon and Sansa had children, Jon just learned about these children now women, Minor Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Not Canon Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Out of Character, Read these tags carefully!, Sansa and Jon HAD a past relationship, This is a pro-Sansa fic, This is not like the North you've read about, daenerys is not a mad queen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-01-12 23:34:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 36,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21234434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wintercameandwent/pseuds/Wintercameandwent
Summary: For over two decades King Jon Snow has supported his wife, Queen Daenerys Targaryen on her quest to rule the Seven Kingdoms all in the name of breaking the wheel. Westeros has not changed in the way they would have liked, and that has brought irreparable strain on their marriage.Recently King Jon has learned that he fathered two daughters with his ex-lover, Sansa Stark. Daughters who after her death were kept hidden from him by his family and friends. His daughters are now grown women of the North. With a mix of their Stark and Targaryen heritages, they bring a halt to his wife's unsuccessful goal of ruling the Seven Kingdoms. In the next installment of this series, take a look at how the revelation of his daughters' existence impacts Jon, his family, and the kingdom.NOTE TO POTENTIAL READERS!I suggest you read the first part of this series.The initial story is told solely from Arya's POV.Its about how she had to become the parent to the twins and saw them into adulthood.Part 2, is a multi-person POV, and it address the emotional and relational ramifications from the ending in part one.Filter carefully...readers beware!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello All, 
> 
> Here is part two...well at least the first chapter. I am not sure how often I will post. I have several chapters written already. I'm not sure how long it will be. I have been procrastinating on finishing Love, Honor, Duty and a Dragon Queen, so that will take up my attention for a bit...but I will post what I already have of this fic. 
> 
> Please remember to keep comments constructive. If you can't just don't comment at all. I won't be offended. 
> 
> Here's to hoping you like the story as much as I enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Robyn Snow rode a distance out from Winterfell in search of her much beloved dragon, Tora. She has to get away, as far as she can. Her mind heavy with trepidation. 

Her uncle, King Brandon had called her and her sister to meet him at the weirwood tree. It appears as if a raven, addressed to them arrived from Queen Daenerys Targaryen. The famed Targaryen who helped save the North, while destroying the South. In the missive she agrees to the terms they outlined when they met her a moon ago in the South. It seems as though the Reach, Stormlands, and Crownlands have bounded together to create the “New South”, but Dorne has been granted their independence. An agreement was also made between the ruling family of the South and the lower houses of the Westerlands as well. Robyn was not surprised by this news. This letter would not upset her so. It was the second letter that arrived with the Queen’s, the letter from the King...her father, the legendary Jon Snow.

Robyn dismounts her steed and jots across to her cherished familiar. In addition to her sister and her direwolf Winter, Tora is one of her closest companions. As the dragon sees her approach, it can tell that Robyn is very emotional and is looking to escape Winterfell for a spell. Ever the accommodating friend, Tora lowers its head so that Robyn can mount. As soon as Robyn seats her dragon, she lays her upper body and head against the scales of her dear companion, and lets out a deeply held sigh. That is all the hint Tora needs to take flight.

As Tora flies over the snow-capped mountains, she doesn’t have any true direction, but her dragon seems to know where she needs to go. Robyn has always known about her parents. She had never met them, seeing as her mother died shortly after she and her sister were born, and her father, until a moon ago, never knew of her existence. What she knows of her parents have been shared by people who knew them, and through their uncle...directing their greenseer journeys. She knows what her parents lives were like as children. Their father treated cruelly at the hands of their grandmother, until choosing to escape and serve the rest of his life as a Night's Watch, before learning the truth of his own parentage. Their mother was spoiled and lived a privilege life as a young girl, but that all changed, leaving her to live a terrible existence once she moved to the South. Robyn learned that her mother was able to find love...on her own terms, even if the man she chose could not stay. She did not regret her relationship with Jon Snow and she did not regret her daughters. That brings Robyn peace. She can hold this perceived truth dear to her heart, but meeting her father, talking to him, it all has the power to undermined all she’s ever believed about her parents...and their relationship. 

Being the daughter that looks the most like their mother, she is not the daughter with the cooler temperament of her mother. In Robyn runs the wolf-blood, associated with most Starks, the impetuousness that has been associated with her father...well, when he is well provoked. The announcement of his visit has provoked her. Robyn knows that she should have stopped when Alysanne called out to her, but she just couldn’t stop her feet from taking her away. Alys will understand, she always does...they’ve always understood each other. 

Tora lands down near the Dreadfort, what once was the home of House Bolton, but now serves the House Tarly. It’s there where Robyn will find one person who she can share her thoughts and feelings without the influence of someone else. Robyn knows she can only share so much with her sister. Both women have different feelings about their parents, and if Alys wants to know their father, then she will not stand in her way. But she needs to process this with someone who isn’t familiar with Jon...not like her aunt and uncle. She needs the person who has always been hers for as long as she can remember...Little Samwell Tarly.


	2. Young Samwell Tarly POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keep comments constructive :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always wondered what Little Sam would grow up to be like.

“Hey Little Sam, Tora was spotted landing near the Keep.” Jon Tarly calls down to his brother in the training yard. 

Little Sam halts the training session, and looks to his brother. It makes him laugh inside to think that though they call him Little Sam, his younger brother, Jon, is smaller than him. He who stands at 6 foot 4 and broad of build with hair the color of wheat and eyes like that of his mother. Yet his brother who takes after their mother’s coloring and slimmer build, barely reaches 5 foot 9. Little Sam sheaths his sword, one gifted to him by Lord Baratheon, on his thirteenth name day, and makes his way up to his sibling. 

“Did they see Yhalen too?” he inquires.

“No. Just Tora...” he replies.

Little Sam knows this doesn’t feel right. Something is off. He knew the sisters were planning to visit in a sennight, but to arrive without notice. Well that is not like the Snow sisters...they will be first to tell anyone who would listen that their mother deemed courtesy to be liken to an armor...and they should never be without donning it. Little Sam bids his brother goodbye and goes in search of the Snow sister who has the power to turn his world upside down. 

He sees her walking towards the Keep, but she is not looking ahead, her body following the memory of a familiar path. It’s there where he waits for her to come towards him. He knows when she senses him. She stills and looks up at him. Her eyes are a watery blue. He can tell she is upset, but the source of her troubles is unknown to him, until she utters the three words that bring clarity to the scene before him. 

“He comes North.”

Little Sam opens is arms wide, and that is all Robyn needs. She runs into his embrace, wrapping her arms around his neck, as he holds her close, his arms enclosed around her waist. It is there that Robyn weeps quietly for the end of what she has always known, and for fear of the unknown that is to come. Little Sam lets her cry. He can see his mother in the distance, looking down over the battlements. His eyes meet hers and with a sad smile she nods for him to bring his lady home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alysanne's POV is next :)


	3. Alysanne POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a little of Meera Reed's POV in this chapter, but for the most part it is Alysanne's.
> 
> Also keep in mind that I will play around with how Dany and Jon were portrayed on the show, for example, while Dany and Sansa were frosty with each other, boat$ex never happened, and Dany didn't go Mad Queen on KL...once the bells tolled...she stopped.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Alysanne sat her chambers, near the hearth where a fire warms her room from an early winter chill. By her feet rest her direwolf North, and her sister’s familiar...Winter. Alys knows Robyn well. She always has. Their bond always close and unexplainable. Their uncle’s announcement in regards to their father’s imminent arrival was met with both caution, apprehension, and resentment ...caution by her, apprehension by Robyn, and resentment...well that may be a mutually shared feeling.

Looking away from the hearth, she tries to bring her attention back to her embroidery on the sleeves of a dress she is making for her Aunt Meera, for her aunt’s next name day, which is to arrive in several weeks. The design she is working on shows a lizard-lion in greyish green coming out of the hot springs near the weirwood tree. Queen Meera Stark may love the stoic, and at most times uncensored, Brandon Stark...but she is first and foremost, a crannogwoman. Aly takes great joy in producing pieces that display such pride, as a young woman proud of her own sigil, she makes a point to always have a project underway. 

Alys finds it hard to concentrate on her stitching. She can sense the chaos in her sister has dissipated. Only one person, besides her, can calm her passionate sister’s mind. And since she sits before the fire and not her sister, that leave only one other person...Little Samwell Tarly. Though not little, but rather quite a mountain of a man...the irony of his name is not lost on anyone who has met this gentle giant. 

A knock at her door brings her away from her thoughts. She expects to see her Aunt Arya, but it’s her  
Aunt Meera that enters her room. Careful to place her work in the trunk by her bed, she turns to her aunt.  
“Your Grace. How do you do this good evening?”

Meera Stark takes in her niece. The coloring of a Stark, from her hair to her eyes...a well-versed woman, trained in the arts, war, courtesy, and law...much like her sister. It is this sister that thinks deeply and shares very little of what she thinks. Meera believes that perhaps she shares very little with her own self at times. After speaking with her husband, she gave him a very firm talking to about revealing the news of Jon’s arrival without preparing the rest of the family for the twins finding out. Her King’s apology for his lack of hindsight does not diminish the damage done...Robyn’s departure, and Alysanne’s ruminations. Meera never met Jon Snow, but apparently he was renowned for his broodiness...a trait he passed on to his oldest daughter. 

“I am well met, but enough about me. How are you, Dearest?”

Alysanne takes a deep breath, buying herself some time to collect the disorganized thoughts in her head. Her Aunt Meera, ever patient, will wait until Alys is ready to speak. It seems like time moves so slowly before she is ready to utter a single thought. “I fear his return will...lead to heartbreak...both for me and my sister, just like his return brought sorrow for my mother. I do not trust him...”

“You think he and Queen Daenerys are using a ruse. Your uncle seems to think King Jon is sincere and honorable in his intentions to visit.” Meera brows lower in concern.

“I do not think his intent is to misrepresent himself, at least not in the way you inquire.” Alysanne looks away from her aunt. 

Meera walks over to her niece. Tall like her mother, she looks up and reaches out her right hand to cup the taller woman’s face, bringing Alysanne’s gaze to meet her own. “Then what do you mean, sweetling?”

“A blind man is a dangerous man, and Jon Snow has been very blind for a very long time. For over twenty-two years he has willfully stayed away from the North. I don’t know what he hopes to gain from this visit. I do not understand his reasons for coming. What does he hope to gain? The North is the North. Finally, free and independent. Why would he come back? He is no longer of the North.”

Meera nods, understanding her niece’s concerns. “The North has always been Jon’s home.”

Alysanne steps away from her aunt’s touch. “No. Jon Snow’s home is with his Queen...in the South. The North stopped being his home when he left...”

“Alys, you and your sister can’t think that a man like Jon Snow would not come North knowing of your existence. I want what’s best for you and your sister. Give Jon Snow a listen. That’s all...promise nothing but an ear. You might be surprise by what you learn.”

Alysanne ponders her aunt’s suggestion. “I am afraid to, but I fear there isn’t much hope for avoiding it. I just see no good in his return. There is nothing for him here now. Nothing...”

Meera reaches out for her niece’s hand. “Oh, I can think of two powerful reasons for him to return.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse into Jon's mind is on its way.
> 
> On a side note, thanks for the appreciation shown in the comments, kudos, and subscriptions. :)


	4. Jon's POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is the night before Jon leaves Kings Landing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank for the support. I am always appreciative. 
> 
> As always keep comments nice and clean. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

In the almost twenty-three years Jon Snow left the North, two decades of which he has spent as King Consort to his royal wife, he had traded his heavy furs for lighter weighted materials that help to cool the body in the hot South. Even during its Winter, the South was nothing like his home. Even after all this time, he has never gotten used to the weather of the South, nor has he become accustomed to the political climate.

Jon walks from the stables, to where he checked on the preparations, for his long overdue ride to the North. His recently requested leathers and fur cloak, made for the harsher weather in the North, arrived a sennight ago. He noticed his wife’s arched look when she had seen it, but he found he didn’t feel moved to quell her insecurities about what the cloak represented. She was a Queen, and Jon wished she schooled her emotions a bit more consistently than she does. After so many years, he was weary of always soothing her emotions, she ought to do better by now. 

He has been ready to head North from the moment his mind caught up with his senses. Daughters. He had children...now grown. Sansa gave him two daughters. Daughters she never told him about. It took all of Jon’s considerable efforts to remain in Kings Landing, working toward getting his wife to bend instead of holding firm to her rigidity. 

Dany’s vision had not been the success they both hoped it could have been. The battle between free-will and control have been the bane of her rule. If he were to think too carefully on it, Jon would have to admit he has spent most of his married life as a diplomat or a general for his wife. A role that he gladly took upon for a myriad of reasons...early in their relationship, but that desire to serve her in that capacity waned as the years passed. Now he is tired...tired of holding powerful forces at bay, tired of fighting, he’s just so tired. He cares for his wife, and remains as her husband, but their union is strained kind of superficial. The passion that once held them together had disappeared over time, leaving them with a husk of a marriage that once began with true intentions. But once he saw his daughters’ and heard their message, he knew that Dany’s great dream of freeing Westeros had come to an end...and by the gods, he was grateful for it. He didn’t know how much mind he had left to continue fighting that battle. 

Once she conceded, with great reluctance, he told her of his intent to go North. It had been many years since he had been to his homeland. Jon knows his decision to stay away from the North is rooted in his choice to give up their sovereignty. It was a choice he regretted just as soon as the haze that clouded his decision lifted. But it was too late. In staying away, he afforded the North a kind of independence that other kingdoms of Westeros just did not have. He was able to give them that, but he knows it is not the same as returning their true freedom. 

Jon wanted to see the North, but most importantly he wanted to meet his daughters. He also needed to speak to his brother and sister...never cousins...not them...and asks them why they kept Sansa’s death and the subsequent births of his children a secret. Had they hated him that much. Did they blame him for Sansa’s death? 

Jon finds himself in his solar. He opens a drawer below his desk, and pulls out two straps with a direwolf sigil embossed into the leather, ones that used to belong to the cloak Sansa had made for him. He runs his thumb over the wolves, feeling the difference between the smoothness of the strap against the texture of the wolf. Jon remembers the day she gave him the cloak. He knew then that he was falling in love with her. She was fierce, even with her recent dreadful history. Not a physical warrior, like Ygritte or Val, but strong and resolute in her belief that they had to take back the North...and they did. He should not have loved her, not that way. He thought her his half-sister, but in the late night, traveling between Houses...trying to secure support, sharing meals and plans for the future, they fell in love. She never seemed to care that they were half-siblings...well at least they thought so at the time. After a while, he stopped fighting his desire for her, and together they had lived, fought, and loved. But reality intruded, the Night King was coming and Jon needed allies. And he found such an ally in Daenerys Targaryen. When he first met her, he held his ground but over time he began to care for her, especially after she flew into danger and lost her dragon-child to save him and the men who went North of the Wall. By the time the truth of his parentage was known, Sansa had held herself at a distance, and her love for him seemed to have cooled, though he remain desperate for her. The last time he saw Sansa, she stood overlooking the battlements, her expression riddled with disappointment...and sadness. After the initial seizure of Kings Landing, he could not bring himself to face her, so he stayed away...not because he didn’t love her, for he did. Jon was aware that even though he loved her, he knew she would never accept him...not after what he had done to the North. 

As he dwells on what his life became after Kings Landing, Jon never regretted trying to give him and Daenerys a chance for he came to her without attachment, but he does regret having lost Sansa the way that he did. Lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t hear his wife walk into his room. 

“I see your preparation have been finalized. You seem quite eager to leave and head North.” Jon sees Dany looking at the pieces of leather in his hands, very aware of what they are, and the importance they hold for him. 

“There is much there that will require my attention.” the silence strained.

“I am disheartened to see you go. I don’t want you to leave. I loathe that it is her that pulls you back there, but I should not be surprised. Here or there...” Dany folds her arms across her chest, looking as she seeks to comfort herself. He looks at her, half of her hair braided into a crown while the remains curl down her back, dressed in their Targaryen colors...a crimson red dress with a sheer black overlay. Bells tinkling as she shakes her head, her violet eyes appearing unseeing as she stares out the window. Jon thinks she looks ever the queen...but he can see her sadness, and he knows he is partly to blame for it. 

Jon realizes this hurts his wife. It was no secret that she had never liked Sansa...the past between the women fraught with tensions...both about the North and about Jon. Now there were children to consider, though they are women grown. Fatherhood was never a point of contention for Jon, raised as a bastard he never thought he would sire offspring, and after marrying Daenerys he made peace with that...at that time he wanted her more than he wanted any potential children. Now he seeks to go and meet the one thing Sansa gave him that she could not. For Dany’s inability to carry their own children has been an open wound, for her, one that has never healed. “What do you mean here or there?” his voice quiet and solemn. 

“Do you think me blind Jon? The leather straps, the letters, the handkerchiefs...all things she sent, made or gifted to you. All things you brought South, when we both knew she would not take you back. I know you loved me Jon, but I have always known that to love you meant I had to share you with her. It is true that you have been the best of husband’s...your attentions honest and true even as we have turned into...this.” Dany places a chaste kiss against his lips. Stroking his lightly graying beard with her hand. “You may have left the North Jon Snow, but Sansa Stark has always been in this marriage.”

Daenerys steps away from her husband. Jon reaches out to catch her hand, stopping her from moving any further. “I don’t regret us trying to be...an us, Dany. You are my wife, and I do care for you...truly. But I need to try to know...” he chokes momentarily on the word... “my daughters.”

Passing a grimace off as a smile, Daenerys squeezes Jon’s hand, and walks away without further word. Jon chooses to accept that gesture as his wife acceptance. His eyes go back to the leathers and his mind wanders back to his past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to clarify, when Jon said he began to "care" for Dany it isn't meant as a passionate love. Rather it is used as thoughtfulness, concern, friendship of sorts wrapped up in chemistry. The sexual tension is there, but it is one-sided on Dany side. Over time as Jon moves on, he gives into that attraction. I do not want to say anymore because it will spoil Jon's POV on their courtship and marriage and how he perceives how it all went wrong.


	5. Arya's POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya and Bran talk about what's to come, and Arya discovers much about Bran's feeling about Jon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note, that in this fic Dany doesn't go Mad. So the taking of Kings Landing didn't have the whole of Westeros bitter towards her. She stops when she hears the bells. Initially most of the Houses were not resistant towards her when she displaced Cersei. Keep this in mind. This story deviates from show canon in that regards. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing

Arya Stark knew Jon was returning North, before her King and brother could tell her. Her niece storming off in a rage from the Godswood and watching her dragon take flight, were all the clues she needed to know. She figures she should go get the specifics on Jon’s plans, so that she can prepare her nieces, as best as she can. Walking off the battlement, and towards the Godswood, she finds Bran...his care facing the large boulder that has always seem to have been there. She can’t remember a time that it wasn’t there. Here she sees him staring at this large rock, as though someone where seated there. 

With a deep sigh, she ask, “When does he arrive?”

Without looking away, Bran replies, “In a little more than a fortnight. Seems he is traveling with a small party, but he informs me that he does return with gifts for the North which should arrive perhaps a fortnight after his arrival, with a larger party. Seems he does not want to delay his travel plans. Eager, I guess.”

“Eager? I think Jon is beyond EAGER! He will be mad and he will feel betrayed. We will have much to answer for, Brandon. Arya’s eyes begin to burn with tears that refuse to fall. For all his faults, and he does have many, Arya never stopped loving her brother, Jon. She knows she betrayed him, willfully so, but her reasons were complicated and if given the choice to do it all over again, she would have selected to remain on the same path. But knowing this doesn’t lessen her guilt.

“I owed Jon Snow, the Great Champion of the North, a gratitude of thanks, which I sent to him years ago on the wings of a raven. The Jon Snow who became King of Westeros...well I did my due diligence by paying taxes and sending men South when he requested them. As for the Jon Snow who is my cousin...well we communicated as often as we thought to mutually inquire about each other. But the Jon Snow who was my sister’s lover...well, I owe that man nothing. That Jon started with limitations, but he never pushed Sansa away. He loved her, and he left her. But I know it was his own shame that kept him from coming back, and not because he had greater affection for Daenerys. I may owe the different parts of Jon Snow many things, but I have paid those Jon’s in-kind a long time ago. I do not fear the ire of Sansa’s former lover. I expect he should fear mine.” Bran’s eyes look towards Arya. Typically, blank... except for when speaking to his family or friends of close merit, these eyes are angry and bitter. Arya thinks that maybe she misunderstood Brandon’s feelings about Jon and Sansa’s relationship. It is finally clear to her in this moment that Bran harbors great resentment towards Jon. Resentments he has kept to himself all these years. 

“I see, but at the same time I fear I haven’t seen enough.” She whispers. “I always thought you felt as torn as I have about lying to Jon, but it appears as if that has not been an issue for you.”

“He left Arya. He has not stepped foot into the North in over twenty-two years. Yet we, as the family he knew...the only family he knew...raised as a Northern son, as a Stark to those in this family...we did not warrant his physical attention. He could have come. Jon was...is...very much loved in the North. We both know if he came, the truth would have been discovered. But as long as we paid our taxes and sent some men South to fight for him, he left us alone. Why would I have thought we mattered when his actions spoke to an opposite suggestion. You resided here, in the North, his favorite sister, had he ever once come to visit you.”

“No...” she responds.

“No...and if he had, Sansa’s daughters’ would have been revealed to him a long time ago. If Jon Snow wants to be angry, perhaps the first person deserving of his ire should be himself.” Bran gestures for one of his guards to take him into the Keep, leaving Arya alone.

Arya thinks, if the Jon she knew still exist, then his self-hatred will be a constant companion on his journey to reconcile his past with his present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the support. It's always recognized and appreciated. 
> 
> Happy reading...


	6. Little Samwell Tarly's POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a glimpse into the kind of relationship that exist between him and Robyn Snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prepare yourself for a short chapter. This story begins with Robyn's POV, but it's a very small part. The chapter really is Sam's. 
> 
> This is a sexy-time (light) chapter...so feel free to skip if you'd prefer. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Robyn Snow slowly awakens from a long night, a night of tears, frustration, and anger. The first cleared after speaking to Lord and Lady Tarly, the latter two were taken on by their son, and Robyn’s lover, Little Samwell Tarly. Hmmm...little...everything he’s not, she softly laughs to herself. It seems her slight movement causes Sam to turn away from her. She turns over resting her upper body on one arm. Looking down she sees one of her oldest friends, her first love, and the man who knows her best...the good and bad. Robyn knows she is impetuous at times, quick tempered, and a bit of a grudge holder, but Sam has always called her out on her less than courteous behaviors...and loves her just as she is. With her other hand she pushes a mass of long hair out of his face, allowing her to see his expression clearly. He is completely relaxed, right arm above his head, his left around her waist. She loves his hair...the wheat-blonde locks are thick and longer than his parents would prefer. As his lover, she has no complaints...more to hold...during their more passionate lovemaking sessions. She feels before she sees Sam awaken. He pulls her tighter to his side, prompting her to raise her left leg to straddle his waist. As Robyn adjust herself, she looks down to see the warmest pair of eyes staring back at her. 

“Good Morning...” his voice husky from the fairly lurid use of it the evening prior. 

Robyn chuckles as she lowers her head to gently kiss Sam’s lips. She pulls his bottom lip with her teeth, carefully licking the redness that her bite produced. “Is it a good morning? That’s something I am not too sure about, but I can assure you Master Samwell, the evening was most definitely a good night.”

Sam runs his fingers though a curtain of her red hair, one hand gripping her head just so, keeping her gaze locked onto his. His other lowering to adjust for her to seat him properly. Many years ago, they did away with hiding their relationship from their families. The North adopting a number of Free Folk traditions. They don’t flaunt that they are familiar in the _holy_ sense, but they don’t make an effort to conceal it either. He loves her, and always has. The original plan had been to ask her to be his wife on her next trip to his home, with Alysanne’s help he had thought of the perfect way and his dearest friend was all too excited to help, but he’s brought to the present of why she returned to the Dreadfort with the haste she had...mayhap now was not the right time. 

Moving his hand to grip her hip, Sam prompts Robyn to start moving. She is so sensual. Her pace languid. Their eyes never moving away from each other. He rises up, both hands now gripped in her hair. How he loves this woman? Her pace begins to quicken, both of them panting rapid breaths...almost into each other’s mouths. Sam pulls her head closer, and he captures her lips with his own. He can feel her body signaling her release, the tightening and tugging, her body binding him to her. When the final moment comes, they draw pleasure from their peaks, both crying out during their kiss. 

Sam falls back onto the bed with Robyn resting on top of him. She looks up to see Sam looking satisfied, he tries to look serious but he’s never been successful. She begins to laugh against his chest. Face alight with a grin, she looks to the man whose bed she shares, and says, “Well I guess the morning will be good as well.”

Sam wraps his arms around her and together they laugh at the silliness of their banter, trying to protect Robyn by postponing their exit from his chambers. Delaying the challenges that he knows are coming her way. Whatever they may be, he will make sure she will never doubt that she will always have a safe haven in him...sheltering and protecting her tender emotions as he always has.


	7. Alysanne's POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robyn returns to Winterfell and the sister's share a private moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since the other chapter was so short...here's another. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

It was almost nightfall when Alysanne felt her sister join her in the crypts of Winterfell. A place where only the ruling Kings and Lord Paramounts were to be buried. A place reserved only for men, well that was until their Stark grandfather laid his sister, their Stark grandmother, here to rest. The tradition forever broken when their Stark uncle, buried their Stark mother beside her aunt. Alys steps away after lighting a candle for both her Grandmother Lyanna and her mother, Sansa. Arms, similar in size and shape to her own, wrap themselves about Alys’ waist. A chin resting on her left shoulder.

“I am sorry, Al. It was wrong for me to leave the way I did. I just...couldn’t...” Robyn speaks quietly. The silence of the crypt echoes her words to be heard by the deaf ears of the long dead. 

Alysanne reaches for her sister’s hands around her waist. She nods. “I know, Rob, I know.” While both sisters can be temperamental, Robyn has always been a quick eruption, but Alysanne...she has always been a slow burn, but when her ember catches her fire can seem endless. She release some feelings along the way to that great explosion...such as now, as tear silently stream down her face, as she thinks about the two Stark women before her. 

She thinks of her grandmother first. Did she love her grandfather? Was he honest with her about his intentions? Even if he were, she knew he was married. What kind of woman steals another woman’s husband? Many say she was young, and that her grandfather...a Targaryen and the Crown Prince, should have known better. But even if that were true, Alys knew at the tender age of 14 that loving and running away with a married man was dishonorable. 

As her eyes move to her mother, she wonders what kind of woman falls in love with a man she thought her brother? Knowing her mother’s past, she tries to imagine what must have broken inside of her to make her open to the idea. Her mother, like her grandmother, had no reason loving a man she shouldn’t have. Yes, she knows that her parents were cousins, but that truth wasn’t known when her parents laid together, when they created her and her twin. What was it about her...father..., that made her mother love him so? From what she has learned, her mother could not forgive Jon Snow for surrendering Northern independence, but was that all it was. Perhaps the loss of independence wasn’t the issue, but rather it was the loss of trust between them.

She worries about this part of her heritage, and what kind of taint it has left inside of her. Alys watches her sister reach out for their mother’s hand. 

Peering at these women, who have never met each other, she notes the commonality they both shared. Jon Snow. He, the direct source of one woman’s death and the indirect cause of another. She breaks the comfortable silence shared between her and her sister. Alysanne shares her fear of their father’s return because it is her belief that Stark women don’t survive Jon Snow. 

Feeling Robyn’s arms tightening around her, she reminds Alys of one simple truth...and for a moment it quells her fears.

“We have each other, and that makes us strong.”

Alysanne turns her head slightly, her hooded gray-eyes catching her sister’s hooded blue ones, both women having an unspoken conversation. A trait they never seemed to outgrow. Both women smiling at one another, taking consolation in their bond. Alysanne’s smile turns as sharp as her mother’s. “Look at you, the voice of reason. Sammy must have been in rare form last night.”

Robyn, still keeping an arm wrapped around her sister’s waist, pulls her away from their grandmother and mother statues, walking towards the entrance of the crypt. “I daresay, Sam does have his moments in time.”

Alysanne stops and scoffs at her sister, “Has his moments...he has been the sole beneficiary of your moments for the last four years. I think it’s safe to say, you have purchased Sam’s ‘moments’ in perpetuity.”

The women stop to laugh, enjoying this time of just being together. The crypt was always their place...away from prying eyes and heavy expectations. 

Reaching for each other’s arms, walking side by side, they leave the crypt, with their merriment behind with the dead Starks of long ago.


	8. Lord Samwell Tarly's POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little Sam can't stay away, though it is what is parents would want.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Lord Samwell Tarly of the Dreadfort watches as his oldest son. It never mattered to Sam that “Little Sam” was not of his blood. He loved and raised him just the same. On the outside, no two men could look more different. Sam was always a rotund man, even in his youth, his childish face never seemed to grow into manhood. Apparently that was a good thing, well according to his wife it was. His oldest son...he was a big man...tall, firm, muscular, and physically strong. In that way, father and son had little in common, but it is in the ways you can’t see but must experience that one can see the father in the son. Lord Sam takes a sip of his ale. A much better version of the one available during his time as a Crow. Sam thinks on what his heir just told him. 

“Father, I am letting you know my intentions to go to Winterfell. I plan to leave by the week’s end.”

The Lord of the Dreadfort was not surprised by his son’s declaration. Frankly he’s surprised it took almost a fortnight for him to remark on it. Perhaps it’s his child’s dislike for confrontation that has delayed this conversation. Trying to gently steer his son into staying a bit longer, for he knows there is little that will keep Samwell Tarly, the younger, from Robyn Snow. It’s almost with blind devotion he follows her. Sam remembers a time when he was dedicated to a Snow in much the same way, the young woman’s father in fact, but his loyalty was born and remained out of kinship as brothers of the Nights Watch. He knows that is not the case for his son. Young Sam has loved Robyn for as long as he could remember. He is also aware the affinity his son has for her sister, Alysanne. The three of them close, but Alys never looked at his son the way Robyn did. It doesn’t surprise Sam that his son wants to be there for his lover and for one of his best friends. 

Sam just wishes his son would wait. He has learned from Bran that Jon should arrive in less than a week. He can’t begin to imagine what that homecoming will look like. Sam does not want is his son in the middle of that. As a father who is raising daughters, the last thing Sam would want to see his is daughter’s lover standing by her side, he doesn’t wish that experience on Jon...even though his old friend is bound to see his silence as nothing but the upmost betrayal...friendship gone. Though he hates confrontation, Sam knows that he and Jon are long overdue for one. He expects he will see is wayward friend in about a moon’s turn. 

Before Sam can reply, his wife speaks first. 

“That’s in two days. Do you think that’s wise Sammy? You know I love the Starks. And you know how much I love those girls...but...I can’t help but think that your presence might do more harm than good. We don’t know this Jon...not anymore. I agree you should be close, but there, in the middle of it all. I’m not sure that is a good idea.”

Standing from his great height, looking like a chastised, but determined...man, he speaks from his heart...as his father is known to do. “I understand your fear. I have nothing to fear from Jon Snow...King or not. I am not going for him. I go for Robyn and Alysanne.” Taking a deep breath and slowly releasing it before his son continues. “Everyone thinks they know the inner workings of those women. They think they know what they feel about their parents. The past shared, all with the hopes that they would be prepared for what was to come. So that they would understand why their family made the choices that they had. No one truly comprehends the conditions of their hearts. They hold those opinions to themselves and guard them tightly. But I know. I’ve sat in the crypts with them as each revelation of their parents past was unveiled. I was there watching them cry, when there was naught else for me to do. I saw them break and reassemble themselves in order to make sense of their world, as it shifted under their feet. I will not leave them be when the greatest threat to the peace they have made for themselves marches into the gates of Winterfell. Samwell feels his tears wet his face, much in the same way his son’s tears have stained his own. “I love you. You are my parents. I respect your position in this matter, but do not asks me to abandon them because it is best for you. Please do not.”

As husband and wife look towards each other, both sets of eyes red and faces streaked with tears, they both nod to their son...giving him their blessing to go. 

Gilly gathers her son’s face in her hands, bringing his head low. “You are a good man Master Samwell Tarly, as good a man as your father. I shouldn’t have expected anything less.” Kissing her son’s cheek, she walks out of the solar, no doubt to collect herself before seeing to their daughters, the older man thought. 

Sam walks to his son, resting a large hand on his son’s neck. He nods his head as he looks directly in his son’s warm eyes. He remembers the babe that grew into a little boy, and then the boy and changed into a young man. Yes, Sam is proud of the son he raised. It is with great pride tinged with sadness that he says, “You are a much better version of me, Sammy. A much better version. Send our regards to the King, our love to Meera and Arya, and hug those girls tightly for us...until we arrive and can do so for ourselves.”

It was there that anyone could spot the gentle Lord of the Dreadfort, hugging his mountain of a son, as if the young man where still a little boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the support...the comments, kudos, subscriptions, and bookmarks have been an unexpected surprise. 
> 
> Until next time...happy reading!


	9. King Brandon Stark's POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word comes to Winterfell of Jon's arrival in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

King Brandon Stark watches as his wife, Queen Meera as she brushes her hair at her vanity. He grimaces as another spasm jolts through his legs, an expression he can see his wife has seen through the reflection of the mirror. Over the years the spasms have gotten worse. He describes it has still having no feeling in his legs, but a painful shot to his backbone as the current runs from the soles of his feet to the base of his spine. 

She lowers the brush to the vanity table, retrieves a jar of an ointment she made to help alleviate his discomfort. Sitting at the foot of the bed, she raises the blanket and reaches for the leg giving him much trouble this evening. Meera saturates her palms with the liniment and begins to rub her hands along the length of his shriveled legs. She knows he is embarrassed by her touching them, but she does not care. Now he has learned to, as she says, _suffer his idiocy in silence, and let her continue to tend to him as she saw fit._

“You haven’t had an episode in a long time. You are very tense, my love. This only makes it worse.” She chides. 

Brandon looks at the woman he does not think he deserves, but the Three-Eyed Raven in him will not allow him to let her to go. Most times, Brandon is grateful towards the Raven in this matter. Her persistence to talk about Jon Snow and his arrival, makes this moment not one of them. Bran recognizes that the imminent arrival of his cousin is near. A rider from the South made it to Winterfell during their evening meal. He came to announce that the household should expect that King Jon Snow, First of his Name, would arrive, a couple of hours after the dawn, on the morrow. 

“I do not know of “this” that you speak of.” Bran looks down at a text he had been trying to read before the tremors took root. He feels his wife’s hand cease their rhythmic movements. He refuses to look at her. King Brandon Stark doesn’t want to discuss King Jon Snow with his Queen, but Bran the husband knows that he can’t delay this conversation with his much-loved wife. It is a conversation that must be had, but he is unsure of how to have it. He waits...knowing his wife of over ten years will make the way for him. Blazing a path, as she always had, when he was unable to create one on his own. 

Ever direct, but kind, “Bran, we must talk about your brother or cousin...or I don’t know how you chose to define him. But we must talk about Jon. He arrives in the morning. I need to know where your mind resides, for it seems as if it’s been so distanced ever since you sent the twin’s south. 

“When I was younger, a child really, I always thought of him as my big brother. I knew him to be Father’s bastard, but like Robb and Arya...I didn’t care. He and Sansa were non-existent really. If things had happened differently, if Joffery hadn’t been the monster that he was, Sansa would be alive raising the next King of Westeros. Where she was shallow and selfish, Jon was serious and thoughtful, both with their fair share of wolf-blood...though most contributed Sansa’s to pettiness. In the end, it all manifested itself in the same way...reactionary with a loss of self-control.” Bran shared. 

“Sounds like they were passionate. In all honesty, I’ve not met anyone with a drop of Stark blood, who is not.” Her smile evident through her voice. 

“Meera, I hold to much knowledge. I have seen their past. Seen their actions. I did what Sansa asked of me, when she reversed her request that I never look at her...as I had. I saw all of her past, from our childhood all the way till the end. She wanted me to question all of her motivations, she left me countless journals that surround me...reminding me the reasons why she changed. The violence of it all. There was also hope. The hope that began with Jon. I could accept him so much easier, Meera, if he hadn’t loved her back. But he did. He loved her. This isn’t a summation of what I’ve seen him do, for Jon was always a man of few words, but I have glimpsed his past and his present, and he has spoken his feeling for her to her...to her memory. He loved her, and he left her, and it was only through his recollections of her did he ever think of her.” Lost in his thoughts, he feels such pressure on his chest. His wife reminds him that what he feels is...sorrow. 

I know my sister was proud, and she had a lot of anger towards Jon, but she knew he was confused by his attraction to Daenerys. And though she could not let herself forgive him for surrendering the North, I think was afraid that she would be his duty, his Visenya...or like his father’s wife, Elia. She rather be without him and continue to live her life on her terms. She was prepared for that, Meera. But she died. That was not supposed to happen. I love my nieces, you know I do, but I find the unfairness of it all too much to bear at times.”

Pulling his wife to rest against his side. Bran continues, “Then to make matters worse, it’s as if we didn’t matter. Once he decided to release himself from being a Stark, we became strangers...”

Meera strokes her long fingers against his chest, comforting him with her touch. “I know I was not the boy he left behind when he took the black, and the man that returned wasn’t the same boy he knew, but I still loved him. He was my brother, but clearly that didn’t matter to him. We didn’t matter to him. Yes, he saved the North, but he left us behind. Honestly, Wife, I could live the rest of my life with Jon Snow never ever setting foot in the North...especially Winterfell.

Meera holds her husband close, thinking about his words. She thinks of her own brother Jojen. Not a day passes that she doesn’t feel the sense of loss his death brings her. She couldn’t fathom her brother choosing to willingly disconnect from her. The thought of that pains her greatly. She could only imagine how the little brother, that still remains inside of her husband, must feel...abandoned, but not knowing what they had done to warrant such treatment. 

“Thank you for telling me this. I know you don’t like to speak of Sansa and Jon, and I try to respect that. I hurt for you, my love. I hurt for your sisters. I am frightened for the girls. But I too have read those journals, Bran, and I think...no, I know, that Sansa would want her daughters to know their father. She didn’t intend to keep them separate forever. She just wanted the girls to be old enough and skilled enough to protect themselves. She wanted them to be safe, and she also wanted them to have choices. That is what they are, that is what they have. Whether they chose to have a relationship with Jon, their daughters’ carry her good intentions...and his too. They are much too like them both to be anything else.” Meera looks up at her husband, moving some of the reddish-graying strands from his face. 

“When the time comes, tell Jon your piece, and let it remain. May haps there is more to his side of your story, matters you aren’t aware of...matters that he has kept close to his heart. Remember, love, your gift only reveals so much. If he wants kinship, then set your terms, and demand that he meet them...independent of the choices you made regarding the girls. If he’d rather not, then turn away. You learned to be without him long ago. He has no power over you...nor any more than you had over him.”

Bran twirls a dark brown curl around his finger, she smiles at his wife who is his greatest gift, and asks, “How did you get to be so wise?”

She chuckles deeply, “Well I have had more trials and tribulations associated with my King than I’d like to admit.”

Laughing with his wife, Brandon Stark, both king and man, kisses his wife...pain and spasms forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are moving along...lol. What do you think about Bran and Meera's conversation?
> 
> Your steady support has been awesome to see...I hope you enjoy this next chapter.


	10. Lord Gendry Baratheon's POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gendry and Arya share a moment. She shares her concerns about seeing Jon, and Gendry tries to bring her comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Gendry rolls on to his back, gasping for breath, as he pulls Arya to rest against him. His mind momentarily blank, as its wont to do when they come together. He can barely make out the sun trying to enter the chamber window. “Jon arrives soon.”

Blissful moment gone, Gendry replies “You know it is in the height of poor taste to utter another man’s name, when there is currently man in your bed.” His eyes angled downward to see her face.

“Jon is no ordinary man. This you know. He’s my brother. Always has been. I’ve benefitted from his lack of attention, but my original plans in life would have us living distantly regardless. Unlike Bran, I do not blame him for staying away. He had his own dreams. New ones that didn’t include the North. Sansa let him leave without hope that they could return to what they once were. He found a new quest...I mean seriously you know how partial he is to them.” Arya rubs her chin against Gendry’s broad chest. Being a famed blacksmith, as well as the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, his skills have kept him physically fit. All benefits she has enjoyed as his lover for so many years. “I understand that.”

Gendry strokes her hair. She has let it grow long. She braids it and weaves the long tail into a bun, that sits on the middle of her head. When he asked her why she let it grow out, not that he was complaining, it just didn’t seem like something she would want to do, she told him that she grew it long for her sister...to remember her. For a moment, Gendry thought of Sansa’s lovely red hair...her crowning glory, really. He then looked at his woman. Her eyes had begun to tear, she gave him a watery smile, and shrugged her shoulders. Arya crying always undid him, so he kissed her to stop the tears from falling. 

Coming back to the present, Gendry asks, “If Jon is angry with you, then what of it? You have had more conversations, with Hot Pie in the last twenty years, than you have with Jon. Has he ever shared anything of import with you.” Gendry waits for Arya’s response, knowing what her answer will be. 

“No. He hasn’t. I know very little about his life. Any knowledge I have comes from you.” she confides.

“Exactly. Any information that came from the South, came from me. You could have sought him out too, and you hadn’t. So, you do hold some responsibility there. However, by his own actions, he walked away from this life, and all that entails. There are consequences for such decisions, Arya. Don’t let your affection for your brother, allow him to shift _all_ the blame to your shoulders. He played his parts...both in how he ended things with Sansa, and how he disengaged from you and Bran.”

Arya rests her head on his chest, running her long nimble fingers through the hair on his chest. He can tell she is thinking. Like Jon and Alysanne, she can think quite...loudly. 

“He will be mad, but if I allow myself to dwell on it too much, I find that I too am mad. This could only end in disaster.” She whispers.

“Hmmm...true. I offer you advice though...advice I myself must use. Accept your part in the deception. It’s all we can do, but make sure you hold a mirror to his actions...for the King and the Man, must acknowledge what I’ve heard him telling his wife for years...”

“What is that?” she enquires.

“You must own your actions and their consequences, and acknowledge how your movements will inform how others will react. Jon made his moves...and in response, so did we.”

Arya holds him tights. Once again her thoughts echoing off the walls of the room. “You are right...”

Trying to break the tension he feels coursing through her, he interrupts her thought. “Did you just say I was right?” He attempts to push her away to get out of their bed. “Unhand me, Woman. I need to find a piece of parchment and ink. This day must be noted with great haste. Such another time may never be seen again. Do you think we should send out ravens?”

Arya punches Gendry in the shoulder. “Ow...Woman. You are most violent. Why do I keep you near?” he jest.

Fully aware of Gendry’s motivation, she laughs at his foolishness. “That’s easy to answer, Lord Baratheon. It’s simply because you love me...AAAAAAAND it’s too late for returns.” She hops out of the bed to retrieve her dressing gown from the divan near the hearth. 

Gendry sits up, looking at her tie the belt securely at her waist. He can see her resolve established, back straight, eyes...frosty, the stoic face she is known for sets in place. In front of him, is the Arya Stark, the She-Wolf of Winterfell. As a man who has loved the strong, yet complicated, woman before him, he knows she will need him more than she had ever needed him before. As Sansa once told him, when he asked her why she refused to go South to see Jon, “...families are...complicated.”

Watching her walk back to him, as a wolf stalks its prey, she bends down to kiss him gently. Looking directly into his sky-blue eyes, she says, “I may not be the woman that you deserve, but I am grateful that you chose to stand by me.”

Emotions slammed into him, “Well you did asks me once to be your family.” Reaching for her he poured all the things he’s never needs to say into a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jon's getting closer. You will see a little Jon and Sansa flashback scene in the next chapter.


	11. King Jon Snow's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello All, 
> 
> I haven't abandoned the story. I have just been focusing my extra time on completing my other fic. 
> 
> While I appreciate the time you take to read the story and to comment, let's remember to keep comments constructive. Everyone can appreciate that...the writer and your fellow readers :)

It is almost dawn, and King Jon Snow has had little rest. He’s never been able to sleep the night before a battle, and while he knows he is going to Winterfell, he feels like he’s about to enter the biggest battle of his life. Thinking back, he regrets sending the rider to warn his family of his return. Dany would have told him he was a fool for giving them ample warning, but he could still hear Sansa’s voice telling him that courtesy and honor are not that different from each other, and he was raised in a house that demanded both. In deference to her and the family he had grown up with, he informed the Starks of his arrival. 

Jon walks away from his tent, he sees the sky lighten, but still more dark than light. The sky always reminds him of Sansa’s eyes when she was in the height of passion...both in fury and in love. He turns away, and walks further into the woods and away from the camp. His mind lost in memories. They had stopped here before, near the tributary off of the White Knife river, by the edge of the Wolfswoods. It was on their way to see the Glovers in Deepwood Motte. Jon can’t remember what had started the argument, but he does recall when the argument began to change. 

_“We need to go. We need more men, that means we must ask the Glovers.” Jon bellowed._

_“Why? I have seen them at Winterfell. They came when Ramsey ordered them to. I do not trust them, Jon.” Sansa yelled back. _

_Jon shakes his head, frustrated with having this repeated conversation with her. “You do not know that they can’t be trusted. By your own admission, Ramsey is dangerous. Why would Lord Glover choose to anger him? It would be smarter not to.”_

_“But you don’t know, do you. Other houses refused to meet with him, except the Glovers, Umbers, and Karstarks. You have to be smarter about this Jon. This isn’t North of the wall. Northern we may be, but we are also of the Seven Kingdoms. You can’t be blinded by such dangers. The Glovers are not worth the cost of betrayal.” She pled; her voice frantic. _

_Jon grabbed her by her shoulders, and gently shook her. “Sansa stop it.” He found himself looking straight into her eyes and too weakened to turn away. One of his hands found its way to touch her hair, the other used its thumb to caress her cheeks, her lips. All he could hear was the roaring beat of his heart, and without further thought he brought his lips to hers. _

_He heard her gasps, but he also felt her push her body closer to his. This action set his body into motion. Walking her back to rest against a tree, Jon consumed Sansa’s lips, as she devoured his. Slowly she raised one leg, flanking his waist, pulling him closer to her body. His hand began to tug at her skirts, gripping her thighs, and hoisting her against the tree as her legs wrapped around his waist. _

_Jon’s brain could not seem to re-engage. He was lost in her. Any chance at terminating the moment ended when he felt her reach down to undo his laces. A moan lost into the night sky, his or her, he can’t recall. As one hand held her hip, the other snuck into her small clothes. Feeling her wet and wanting...wanting him, wanting this. In that moment the only thing clear to Jon was that he needed her...and that the feeling was mutual. As soon as he was freed from his trousers, he tore at her small clothes, removing the barrier that stood between them. Finding her entrance, in one swift thrust, Jon entered Sansa. Her scream rent the air, as she pulled his head to her chest, they froze. In time they both began to stir, their hips moving at a rapid pace, as it were a race to see who could make whom come to completion first. Sansa’s long fingers gripping his curls, the tie that held his hair together long forgotten, pulling...bringing a bite of pain that he would always associate with her. _

_Mouthing words, he was not ready to utter aloud, he began to pull at the laces of her bodice. It did not take him long to expose her breasts to his gaze. His mouth trailing wet kisses until he wrapped his tongue around a flushed pink teat. Finding a tender balance between sucking and thrusting, he couldn’t tell when the race changed from her bringing him to his pleasure, to her chasing her own. _

_“Jon...Jon, oh, oh...oh, Jon...” she panted a song, a melody still just as sweet to his ears today, as it was almost a quarter century ago. Pulling his head back to hers, she claimed his lips, her peak hitting her hard nearly bringing Jon to his knees with the force of it. Gods she was tight. Blessed be for the wetness that flooded her channel. Jon continued to plunge steadily into her until his own relief caught up to him. All he could see was Sansa, all her could feel was Sansa, and all he could smell was her arousal, and with his mind clear of any other thoughts...Jon released his seed without guilt or doubt into her. _

The King stops before a large tree, one with a sturdy trunk. The spot feels familiar, Jon thinks it not possible that this could this be. He surveys the area around the tree, looking for something he is sure he won’t find. “You’re being stupid Jon.” He mutters to himself. But just as he’s about to turn back to camp, he sees it. Hidden under leaves that hadn’t existed when he was here before. The air leaves his lungs with such a rush, the suddenness of it all leaves him winded. There, etched into the tree, was the image he carved after they had sorted themselves to rights. He is instantly taken back to the memory, _ he holds her close to him, “No matter what happens Sansa, we will always have us...always. In fact, to prove it to you, I shall put it in writing.” In that moment he took his dagger and scratched the outline of two direwolves into the trunk. _

It dawns on Jon that he stopped in the clearing where he and Sansa fought and loved. This was the tree where he made a promise to her...one he failed to keep. Now he must go back and unable to try and atone for that...for now she is gone and evermore out of his reach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember this story deviates from canon in so many ways. Try to just go with the flow...😊


	12. Alysanne Snow's POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A special visitor finds his way to Alysanne...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember to keep comments constructive! If you can't then don't comment. We don't all have to agree to what is written, but we should agree to be respectful. Thank you!
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Alysanne slept very little this night. The warning that her father, King Jon Snow, was due that very morning made finding sleep impossible. She knew Sam Tarly well enough to know that his arrival the day before was as much for her benefit as it was for her sister's. She also knew that he could comfort her sister as only a man could comfort his woman. She left them alone to be just that. A man and his woman.

Alysanne missed the closeness of her own lover. If she were to think of him now, she'd would see sparkling green eyes and hair so blonde, it looked white. A tall man, her Johan was, slightly taller than Sam, but just as well proportioned. Together the men were well matched in swordsmanship and in love. Currently Johan was in Tarth, visiting with his mother's family. As heir to House Tarth, he had begun to spend more time in the south as his grandfather has begun to get older, and requires Johan to be there to accept the responsibilities that an heir must undertake. 

Since sleep had alluded her, perhaps a walk through the Godswood would help. It's a path well-traveled by all the Starks. She finds herself before the weirwood tree. She pulls out her sword and whetstone. Like her aunt, and apparently her father and grandfather before her, they too enjoyed the quiet and routine of the Godswood, the springs, a sword, and a whetstone. 

Alys can almost let her mind drift away...almost. Her Aunt Arya’s training won’t allow her to drift away too far. To drift means one can be caught off guard. If one can be caught guard, then your enemy may have the opportunity they need to kill you. One should not make it so easy; her aunt would say. A change in the air alerts Alysanne that she isn’t alone. Not sure of who it is, she pretends as if she’s still working the stone against the blade, but truly preparing herself to attack. With one deep breath she turns towards her opponent with intend to strike. 

“Please be gentle my, Lady. I have come a great distance to see you and it would be a shame to make it a waste of a trip.”

As if she had the power to bring him to her, there was Johan Tarth, looking exhausted and beautiful at the same time. Dropping her sword to the ground she runs to him, and like always, his arms were open and ready to catch her. Not one for big displays of emotion, Alys could not contain her feelings. He was here, he had come. Looking up at him, she asked, “How did you know?” lost and flustered she sounded. 

Johan Tarth is usually a very glib young man. Many say he inherited the silver-tongue associated with his father’s family...in addition to his green eyes, though his abilities with his sword hand is attributed to both his parents. Such a contrast he knew they made, the son of Jamie Lannister and the daughter of Jon Snow. Not the match many would have saw, but if those people knew of the great admiration their mother’s had for one another, then their match was destined long ago. Holding her tightly to his travel-weary body, he tries to explain, “My mother. We received a raven that Queen Daenerys had agreed to give North and Dorne their independence. My mother figured it would only be a short time before your father would make his way North. With her attention to detail and her frank understanding of Stark impetuousness, she figured he’d return in less than a moon’s turn. So as a good mother would, she sent me back...said something about a promise she made to your grandmother, Catelyn, and then to your mother, a long time ago.” He smirks.

Alys can’t stop herself from consuming his mouth. Tongues thrusting for dominance. Its always a coin toss as to who will be on top. Her need for him great, and her anxiety sharp. He yields to her, knowing that she needs control in this uncontrollable situation. Ending the kiss, Alys takes in her lover’s face. He seems to be just as happy as she is to finally be reunited. “So, tell me, what was the promise.”

Stepping away from her, he kneels before her, his blade presented to her. Staring into her eyes, love for her shining in them, he declares, “I will shield your back and give my life for yours, if it comes to that. I swear it by the old gods and the new." 

Unable to stay unaffected in front of such a grand gesture, Alysanne pulls Johan to her, hoping that her kiss tells him of her trust and faith in his oath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I have been gone a bit. I was pouring my energies into finishing another story. I will post a bit more regularly...fingers-crossed...lol.
> 
> Since you've been patient, I will both 2 chapters :)
> 
> Happy reading...


	13. Queen Meera Stark's POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon arrives and we get a glimpse into the state of the Starks & Snow from an outsider's perspective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember the deal about comments...keep them constructive.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing!

It is two hours after dawn, and the Starks and their...companions, have broken their fast. Scouts have warned the family of the imminent arrival of King Jon’s party. The family begins to make their way to the courtyard, in preparation for meeting the King of the South. 

Queen Meera, dressed more like a spear wife and less like a queen, stands to the left of her husband, King Brandon. She peers to her right and spots her good-sister dressed in her traditional leathers, wearing her fur side-cloak...needle still at her side, her long braid coiled into her usual bun. Behind her stands Gendry, tall and striking. Meera always thought they made an interesting pair. 

Settled beside Arya, stands Alysanne. Beautiful, tall, and measured she stands dressed in a style of dress made popular by her mother, during the time Starks were mobilizing the North to battle the Night King. Her hair done in a style that Arya said, “was very Sansa.” Meera spies Johan from his place behind Alys, squeezing a hand she has resting at her side. His quiet support is quite a trademark of their relationship. Arya tells her that sometimes she can’t believe he is the son of Jamie Lannister, but then he does something to make her remember. 

Robyn is the unknown variable in this equation. She has yet to arrive. Very much her Aunt Arya’s niece, it would not surprise anyone if she didn’t reveal herself until late. Choosing to watch and see her father’s arrival from afar. Using that information to inform her choices regarding him. Robyn is very aware of how difficult it is for her to see something for what it is in the moment. Knowing this about herself, she plays to her strengths. She always does her best thinking with a bit of time to reflect. It makes sense as to why a man like Sam Tarly the Younger, seems like the best match for her hot-blooded niece. 

“You needn’t worry. She’ll come.” Bran frowns at both his wife and his sister. Meera sensing the frown was for their upcoming visitor, and not regarding them. The horn signaling King Jon’s arrival blares in the distance. It’s in that instance that she sees Robyn walk to stand beside her sister. Dressed exactly like her sister, hair styled alike, Robyn looks the spitting image of her mother. Accompanying her were their direwolves North and Winter. Each wolf now standing before their mistress. 

It's Arya that now draws her attention. “I don’t think I can be here Bran. I don’t think I can do this. Its like...its like...” Arya can’t seem to continue her thought. 

Bran reaches for her hand. “Yes, it feels familiar, but we are not in a battle against the dead, he doesn’t bring an army, nor his Targaryen queen, and when he leaves again, we will move on...like we have before.”

Meera is nothing but understanding of Arya’s behavior. Watching Arya looking over to their nieces, before bending down to speak quietly to her brother. “And the girls. What of them?”

Bran looks at Arya and sternly reminds her, “They may be their mother’s daughters in many ways, but they are more than that. They will not make her mistakes. She is not them, and they are not her. She left us to prepare them, and we have. The rest is up to them. Whatever they chose, we will support.”

Arya nods, and looks again towards her nieces. Meera begins to wonder if the exact style of their chosen dresses were intentional. Both gifted with the sight like their uncle, Robyn skills stronger than Alysanne’s, she wonders if they chose to look this way on purpose. Before Meera could lean over to ask Arya to inquire, the castle gates open, and right before them enters Jon Snow. 

Refusing to wait for a stable hand, he dismounts his stallion. Once on foot, his eyes move towards the people awaiting his arrival. But Meera can see that he can’t tear his gaze away from Sansa’s daughters, from his daughters. 

Forcing himself to walk to Bran, he looks at his cousin, “Your Grace, Winterfell is yours.” Such words heavy with warning. 

“I thank you, Your Grace.” Jon replies with equal enthusiasm, but courtesy dictates that they do this dance. 

“May I introduce to you, my wife, Queen Meera Stark.” Meera can hear the warmth return to her husband’s voice when he speaks of her.

“Queen Meera, charmed to meet you. Your abilities to protect and bring Brandon home are renowned. It is an honor to finally meet your acquaintance.” Meera nods. She senses sincerity in Jon’s words. Perhaps he isn’t the only one with regrets, Meera thinks.

“Lady Arya.” His tone turned a bit cooler, just as it had with Brandon. 

“King Jon.” Arya’s voice having gone devoid of the emotion she had demonstrated just moments ago. 

Meera watches as Jon’s eyes catch Gendry’s. There seems to be a slight nod of recognition, and a suggestion of a deeper exchange to come. 

As he turns away, Jon makes his way to his daughters. His eyes wide, darting around the girls, as though he were trying to remember every detail of their faces, dress, hair..

“Lady Alysanne and Lady Robyn. I come to unassumingly meet your acquaintance. I would consider it a great honor, if you would be amenable to sharing some time with me, during my visit to the North.” His voice catches, alerting everyone within a stone’s throw that seeing the girls has not left him unaffected. 

The Queen watches as her nieces look at each other. That hooded stare that always alerted those near, that a silent conversation was in progress. Robyn nods to her sister. With guarded eyes they stare back at their father. 

“Your Grace. My sister and I look forward to obliging you, when we can.” Alys, her voice strong and steady, as she responds to her father’s request.

“Thank you. Thank you...” for a king known for his diplomacy, his voice sounded unsteady to her own ears. 

Thinking it time to break the awkward tension, Meera turns to Jon and invites him into their home. She dismisses the twins. Ever armored with courtesy, they curtsied for the King, their father, and walked away with their men flanking one side, and their direwolves on the other. 

She observes Jon as he watches the group of young people walk away. His eyes narrow a bit, and he looks to her. “Who pray tell were those young men who accompanied my daughters?" Jon inquired. It seems as though Jon was ready to acknowledge his children, and it appears as though the contentious discussion would not be put on hold till the next day. 

Gendry pushes Bran’s chair to stand beside Jon. “That would be Little Sam Tarly and Johan Tarth.”

“Little Sam! Tarth, did Tormund marry Brienne. No, surely he would have told me that. They all seem very familiar.” Jon observed.

Not sure what to say, Meera remains quiet. It’s Arya that addresses Jon’s last declaration. “Yes, Little Sam. He’s a good man, as is Brienne and Jaime’s son. And as for their familiarity, well yes, they are...familiar." 

“Brienne and Jaime had a son? Wait, how familiar?” Meera can hear this discontent rising in Jon’s voice. Apparently this has put Arya’s back up. Gendry and Bran can see where this is going, and before they could stop her, she sends an arrow straight into Jon’s chest when she replies, “About as familiar as you were with their mother?” Jon pales, throat bobbing as he attempts to collect himself. 

With her final words said, Arya walks off to the stables, Gendry following her. Sentiments about sex and marriage having taken on a more Free Folk approach in the North, a topic that is less sinful as it once was...but clearly the Southern King was not privy to this information. 

The tension broken for a moment, when two large dragons fly overhead. Brandon gets Jon’s attention when he begins to speak. “Perhaps you will allow my wife to show you to the guest tower. My steward will see that your men are taken care of. With relationships between the North and the South, I thought it best to postponed a feast until you were ready for one. Lunch is at noon, but we can delay that if you’d like. It will be just the three of us, you, Arya, and I...for there is a lot we must talk about before your visit can commence.”

Voice devoid of much emotion, Jon agrees to being shown his chamber and accepts the offer of lunch. 

As Meera enters the castle, she send prayer to the Old Gods asking them to please help the Starks find the peace they need to move on...both from their past, and from each other.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He's there....dunt, dunt, dunt...


	14. Garnaa Payne's POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A familiar face helps the twins to process...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

The bond between dragons and their riders is unexplainable. The young dragon-riders of the North, have tried many times to explain how their relationship works, but the words they use never seem to be enough. As they walked away from the courtyard to the Godswood, they could feel them before they saw them. Changing their direction, with their men and wolves silently following them, they make their way to the sables to gather horses for the ride to Sansa’s Hill. 

Many years ago, they discovered during one of their greenseer travels, that this was the hill where their mother stood as she watched the Knights of the Vale. Their dragons, much like their mother, are known for just waiting and watching before acting. It’s there that the four young people make their way to.

While the sisters and their suitors are still silent after the exchange with King Jon Snow, granted the silence is tense, it’s very clear where the tension lies. The couples dismount, slapping the flanks of their steeds, trusting that their direwolves will herd them back to Winterfell. 

Climbing onto their dragons first, the young daughters of Sansa Stark and Jon Snow, look more like dragons than wolves. Reaching behind, they help Sam and Johan onto their respective mounts. With little warning their dragons take flight. The twins signaling to their dragons to fly once again over Winterfell. This has always been their way to let their families know they have left on their beastly companions. 

The need to escape is a living, breathing thing. There is one person who they know they could turn to who has no conflicted loyalties to her parents. A person who personally knew one, but not the other. This is the same individual who made it clear to their immediate family that they’d be raised to think of Jon Snow as their father. A soul who loved their mother, and respected her wishes for her daughters to love their father as his daughters should...even though there is unfortunate history between them. 

The flight isn’t a long one, but it gets them to the homestead they are looking for. The dragons have alerted the residents of the home. Peering down Robyn can see two adults, a brown-haired man and a blonde-haired woman. Running from the food stores, she can see 4 young children, all under 12, with different shades of hair that resemble their parents. With a gentle landing, just a short distance away, the young women quickly dismount their dragons.

They see her, and once again they return to the little girls they once were. The children who found comfort, when they found themselves hurting. Her arms always ready, and her home always open, the twins run into the embrace of their surrogate mother, Garnaa Payne. 

Pulling away from them, she raises a hand to grasp their faces...one hand on each woman. Doing what they know her to do best, she reads them, taking in their state. Sighing deeply, her voice a balm, mending their bruised hearts, “I take it he returned today.”

Both of the younger women nodded. 

“He wants to spend time with us. I do not think that I am ready for that.” Alysanne confides.

“I know I am not ready for that.” Robyn shouts.

“And why not? You have always known about him. You know what his past was like. You are aware of your similarities to each other. Your father has never been an unknown question for you. If anything, you are the unknown for him. He has no idea how you were raised, or what you were taught to think about him and about his relationship with your mother.” Garnaa challenges. “Until recently, you took great pride in calling Jon Snow your father. What has changed?”

Garnaa’s husband, and one of their fiercest protectors, Podrick Payne calls the men and the remaining children into their house for some ale and freshly made bread. He nods to them as he clears the space for the three women to speak without an audience.

The prolonged silence would move people to find ways to fill the quiet space, but Garnaa knows the twins very well. They are brooders of a sort, Alys more traditional of one, than Robyn...but both brooders. Apparently it was a trait they inherited from the father...or so she had been told. It has been many years since Garnaa thought about a conversation she had with her old friend, Sansa Stark. No two women more different, a Lady and a Spear Wife. Both pregnant, both women strong enough to leave the fathers of their children because it was the best thing to do...and well because they loved themselves a little bit more. Garnaa may not have grown up with the expectations found in the kneeler South, but even she knew that staying with a man who fundamental disagreed with you did not bode well for the parties involved. Garnaa respected Sansa’s decision to give Jon his freedom to live his life as he wanted, while choosing to be a mother to his children. Sansa respected Garnaa for making the same choice regarding a different man. If things had gone otherwise, then both women would still be alive to raise their own children, but the gods had a different path. Sansa left this world with Garnaa’s own child, while she remain in this world with Sansa’s. 

“I have been told that there is a fine line between being reflective and being...brooding.” Garnaa begins.

The twins look up at her, eyes shaped just like their mothers. Always hooded, always guarded, especially when they are asked to talk about matters of the heart. When their emotions are turbulent, their eyes both take on a greyish color, and when cold their eyes lighten so much that they are almost clear, both set of eyes losing their vibrancy.

“Let me see if I can remember her words exactly...or well as exactly as an old memory can recall.” Thinking of the conversation she had many years ago, Sansa heavy with child...children, speaking of a time when Jon could not decide if and how he should approach Sansa about his feelings about Daenerys. His delay resulted in her confirmation of her suspicions from a household servant. She told Garnaa, _“There is a fine line between being reflective and being...brooding. Reflection is a proactive approach allowing you to control the outcome, brooding is passive and you give authority to someone else to establish the outcome for you.”_ It turned out that the head housekeeper had been spoken to by a few lower maids about seeing Daenerys Targaryen touching Jon in a manner most familiar, and that several times he was found leaving the Dragon Queen’s chambers at hours that there too late to be appropriate. The woman approached Sansa asking for advice on how to address the concerns. Garnaa can hear Sansa’s voice again. _“I told him, Garnaa...after everything Jon, I deserved better than to find out about the status of your relationship from the people who care for our home...”_ Garnaa stops the rest of the memory. Perhaps that part the girls do not need to hear. 

Garnaa shares the sentiment, that the girls needed to decide if they are going to control the situation or allow someone else to do so. 

Alysanne clears her throat before she speaks. “I realized after seeing him and seeing his wife, together, in the life they built down South, while my mother laid dead...” The dark-haired beauty sighs quietly. “I loved the idea of Jon Snow, but this man. He is a man I do not know, nor am I sure he is a man I want to know.” Garnaa nods in understanding, she looks over to Robyn.

Seeing her old charge carefully selecting her words before she speaks, Garnaa squeezes her hand in a gesture of support. Robyn gives her a sad smile. “He did what he set out to do, and I admire him for it, that resolve. He saved the North and the realm from the army of the dead. It’s not that over time he fell for someone else, though it hurts me to think of my mother having felt inadequate, but he left the North to follow a person who is really domineering in their views on what freedom and justice are. She may not have started her reign that way, but that is what she has become. Her actions have been that of a petulant child. For the last two decades there has been nothing but fighting and uprising all across the South. This person has spent their reign forcing a framework of rule that never fit in Westeros, and instead of finding common ground, like the Starks did with the Freefolk and the people from the Riverlands and the Eyrie, they continued with a corrective course of action that just elicited more upheaval. What kind of person lets themselves fall so far from their own honor and duty? How does he choose to build a life with such a person? I cannot understand his motivation in this regard, and since I cannot understand, I cannot trust him.”

Garnaa tries for a comforting smile. “Well I think you have valid reasons for keeping your father at a distance. It is acceptable to question his motivations. He is here though, and that give you a glimpse into his intent. A man known for thinking too much, might find staying away the easier path to take. Seems to me Jon Snow has chosen to take a difficult path...methinks he does so because the outcome will be better than the regret of not trying to journey down that trail. 

Robyn laughs, “So what you are saying is there is no reason to make this...reunion...an easy one.”

Garnaa chuckles at Robyn’s sly response. “Well I wouldn’t cut my nose, but of all the people in the North, out of all the family and friends of Jon Snow, you owe him nothing. You’ve not kept secrets, you’ve not betrayed him, you’ve not misled him. There are so many people who will have to respond to Jon Snow’s ire...should he have any, but you my dears do not...and that gives you more...”

“...options...” Alys whispers.

...choices...” Robyn sighs.

“... power.” Garnaa states.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, Jon did not cheat on Sansa...remember POV's can be unreliable...there's more to it, but I don't want to spoil anymore than I might have. :)


	15. Arya Stark's POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya and Bran speak before meeting with Jon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Arya didn’t need Gendry to tell her that she should not have replied to Jon’s question with her usual snark. One would think maturity would have set in at some point in her forty-one...almost two years of life. She didn’t like the tone he used to inquire about the twins and the men that had followed them. It sounded downright “fatherly”...or what she imagined her own father sounding like should he had gotten wind that there was a “boy” following his daughter. 

She knows her anger is unwarranted. All Jon had done was ask a question, but that...tone. 

The North is no longer like it once was, rules and expectations that once ruled supreme, no longer do. We are not as traditional as we once were. Women can be heirs, keep their names...should they want, marriage ceremonies differ, but all are recognized in the North, Riverlands, and Eryrie. Sex...well, sex out of marriage is more conservative in the Riverlands and the Eryrie, but the Northern common folk...and some of the noble houses have adopted a more liberal view of intimacy outside of marriage. As Tormund is fond of telling her, “Less hypocrisy this way...everyone is doing it, and if they aren’t they’re making plans to do it.” Arya chuckles at the memory. The fear of having a bastard is of lessen by the knowledge that children can take their mother’s or father’s name. Under orders of King Brandon Stark, all ruling lords and ladies within the realm must legitimize any child brought before them, giving the child a family name...this holds true even in the two newest additions to the North. 

Its took the North a long time to change in this regard, but it has. Ayra thinks the love held by the Northerners for Sansa and Jon paved the way after their own ill-gotten children were born. It set a chain reaction in place that helped other illegitimate children. But Jon does not know this, he doesn’t know how his daughters are loved here, he doesn’t know that they are their own women, with their own desires, with their own loves. All he sees are men, who is doesn’t know, following his daughters. 

His question though...was he wrong to ask? Why did it feel like a criticism, and why did she take it as one? Wishing she had kept her cool, as she is known to do, she dreads having lunch with her brothers even more than she did before. 

Knocking on the door to Brandon’s solar, she hopes that Jon has yet to arrive. She’d rather speak with Bran first. 

“Come in, Arya. He’s not here as of yet.” Her King calls. 

Arya enters the room, making a quick assessment of the space. She walks to the hearth, hoping the fire will suppress the chill she feels. 

“So, I see you are ready to start the hard conversations with Jon. I had hoped to give him the day, but alas that is not really an option.” Bran spares her a sardonic expression. 

“Guess so. No, not really. I just reacted without thought. Not a feeling I am familiar with. That would have been me in my youth, before Father...before, everything.”

“He does bring up feelings, does he not. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say a cross word towards Jon.” Bran mused.

“There was one time before...though cross might be a bit of a stretch. He had just returned home, and I found him in the Godswoods. After we reunited, he mentioned that he could have used my help with Sansa...said she always pretends like she knew everything. I know I didn’t show it then, but the remark, flippant as it was...bothered me. I told him that Sansa was the smartest person I knew.” Arya smiled sadly into the fire, remembering the memory. “He looked shocked that I spoke up for her. Now knowing what I do about their relationship...and how they had been lovers by then, it just angers me that he would look to question her behavior when he had much to answer for.”

“Aye. He did...and so do we. Bran intently stares at Arya. “Do you regret not telling him? Do you regret raising the girls as Sansa wished?”

“No. I don’t. Do you?” she answered. 

“No. Like you told Jon, Sansa was one of the smartest people you knew. She wasn’t wrong about how Daenerys’s rule would affect Westeros. She anticipated resistance, and the response...even down to the use of Jon as an emissary to unite warring factions together. She predicted Jon would still have guilt about giving away Northern independence, especially when he insisted that Daenerys was the queen Westeros needed...all to be made a fraud after the battle for Kings Landing. Sansa counted on this guilt, knowing Jon the way she did, that he would stay away and keep Daenerys away as long as we outwardly complied with her request. Any shame he might have had, would have kept their demands to a minimum.” Bran rejoindered. 

“Allowing us to quietly build the infrastructure of the North with positive strategies that had worked for the South, creating sustainable economy, foreign trade, service programs...such as apprenticeships and minimum learning requirements for children.” Arya continued.

“And a military force, comprised of Freefolk, Northerners, Riverlands, and Eryrie...trained in how to fight, by hand and or by sword...and a few other weapons as well.” Bran contributes.

“Such as, 3 very large dragons.” Arya surmises with a smile. 

A knock on the door terminates the conversation between brother and sister. Both knowing the time for ignorance has passed. Arya stands behind Bran, placing on hand on the back of his chair and the other on him. Bran smiles and reaches back to squeeze the hand on his shoulder. As if coordinated in advance, both Stark siblings breathe deeply, and steel themselves for the confrontation that is to come. 

In one word, the battle had begun, and a shot was fired. “Enter.”


	16. King Jon Snow's POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon tries to find his footing in this new Winterfell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please keep in mind that in this verse, Dany doesn't go all Mad Queen. She is not this vile person. Like most rulers who are at the top of the pecking order, she is used to getting what she wants, and what she wants is her vision. Daenerys sees everyone having the same thing as equitable and fair, but sameness does not mean equity and this had led to resistance against her from all levels of subjects. In the beginning of her conquering of the Seven Kingdoms it seemed okay, and people embraced her, but this way of thinking just wasn't sustainable in the long term. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

The walk from the guest tower, not the family wing, felt to short a distance even though it was on the other side of the Keep. Even when he was thought to be Ned Stark’s bastard, he lived closer to the family quarters than where he is now. His time in the chamber did not offer any respite from his thoughts. 

It took all the discipline in courtesy to follow the protocol expected of him after he dismounted his horse. All Jon wanted to do was go to his daughters. This was only his second time to see them. His eyes had not misled him all those months ago. Standing before him were the exact replicas of their mother, a woman he still loved to this day...a woman he had lost by his own actions. He knew their names but still did not know who was who. Robyn was clearly named after Robb. He and Sansa both spoke of seeing another Robb Stark running around Winterfell, learning how to be the next King in the North. The one named Alysanne, he thought that she may have been named in homage to her Targaryen and Stark heritage, in recognition of Queen Alysanne Targaryen who once came to Winterfell and for Alysanne Blackwood... a former Lady of Winterfell. 

The last two moons Jon has found himself at a loss. He is scared of how they will respond to him, but his want of knowing them is stronger than his fear. Bitterness surfaces when he thinks of their existence being kept from him. He has so many questions that only Bran and Arya can answer. The first question being...why didn’t you tell me Sansa was pregnant? Why did you keep my children a secret from me? Would you think I wouldn’t want them protected? Why did you think I wouldn’t have laid down my life for them? What have you told them about me? The questions are endless and run on a continuous loop in Jon’s mind. 

Jon has missed so much of their lives. Standing before him were two women grown, and he had no say in how they were raised. He missed out on being a father to his children...his children by Sansa. He was forced to live the last twenty-something years without a piece of her. It was different when he thought her alive and living quietly in the North. He could yearn and miss her, but think that she was alive and living a life free of the complications he brought to her. This was not the case. In fact, it was the worst alternative. She was gone. She had died. And they never thought he warranted the notice of such a fact. All this compounded by the awareness that they thought him undeserving of knowing about his children. 

The anger and bitterness threatens to drown him. Then to make matters even more unpleasant, he discovers that his grown daughters have...men in their lives...are they friends...well no, not friends, according to Arya. Not if they are familiar with my daughters as I was with Sansa...Gods, how could she say that to me. Though if he were less familiar, then his children would not exist. Maybe they are married...yes, that must be what Arya means, but in her anger she wants me to believe the worst, he thought. 

As Jon enters the castle, he notices all the changes the Keep had gone through, but surprisingly enough he is shocked by how much is still exactly the same. Funny how slow change can come to the North...except when they wish it. Jon sees the guards waiting in front of Bran’s solar. He nods to them. The men unfamiliar to him. Perhaps sons of fathers lost during the Long Night. 

With a deep breath he raises his fist, looking straight at the door...as if trying to see the people on the other side in hopes of gleaming any intelligence he can. Seeing none, Jon knocks twice on the solid wood door. 

“Enter.”

Jon stiffen at the cold informal voice of his cousin. Nevertheless, he pushed past his discomfort and walked through the opened door. He sees the Starks together in a united front, an image that seems recognizable, yet fractured without a tall crimson-haired beauty and young dark-haired bastard. There was a time he would have been a part of that unit. Clearly that time was long gone.

“Do I even bother to ask to dispense with titles or would you prefer they remain?” Jon inquires as a guard closes the door behind him. 

“Wrong family members, Jon. We were never the ones big on titles.” Bran lobbies a dry retort.

Years as emissary on behalf of his wife has given Jon a thicker skin than his bastard status did, still Bran’s comment hit a bit too close to home, for his wife’s need to have all her titles spoken has always rankled him...and it has served as a bone of contention in many of their arguments. 

“Please, have a seat.” Bran extends his hand to the empty chair in front of him. Arya sits to the left of her brother, her eyes following Jon’s every move. Does she think I will strike? Always watchful, Jon thinks. 

They pass platters and plates of food, and Jon wonders who in this room has the stomach to eat any of it. They do a good job of maintaining the farce until Jon finds he can no longer keep up with pretenses. The sound of his fork clanging loudly against the plate in front of him, draw the Stark’s attention, Arya brow hiked up...setting his teeth on edge. 

“Is something the matter? Is the food not to your liking? It has been a while since you’ve enjoyed any of our Northern fare.” Her tone was meant to be neutral, but her expression was anything but. 

“The food is fine. But I think we are past custom dictating how we proceed with this meeting. Don’t you agree? I can see on your faces there are things you want to say, as well as I am sure you can see it on mine.” A chill enters the room, lowering the already cool climate. 

“Very well. Clearly you are angered, but I can’t tell what angers you most. Is it because we never told you about Sansa carrying your babes? Are you mad that we didn’t share the news of her death sooner? Did our lack of wheedling to have you visit the North offend your newly acquired Southern sensibilities?” Brandon’s voice was laced with censure. Jon was vibrating with rage; how could they sit there as though their actions do not warrant offense.

“Aye, I am mad. I will not sit here and deny it. I may have stayed South longer than I should have. You say I should have come back sooner...but to what would I have come back to. Sansa made it clear that she did not want to see me. She pulled away from me. Have you forgotten that? Perhaps I did not see what she could, that Daenerys couldn’t execute what she promised, but I was always true to Sansa and she discarded me as easily as she thought I discarded the North. You both echoed that sentiment in your distant words and inaction. _I was not welcomed here_...we both know it, so why do you continue this charade of feeling injured and hurt?”

Arya bolted out of her chair. “You have no right to sit there as though you are the only person who sustained injury, Jon. Sansa loved you, but she valued our freedom, a quality Northerners fought and died for...what our brother died for, what she bled for. Yes, she loved you...but she was the face of the North, she stood against you because at the time that is how most of your bannermen felt. In the end, she wasn’t wrong. Daenerys helped the North against a threat, and we thanked her for it, but her reign has not been the blanketed peaceful one you tried to sell.”

“He sees no difference, so you might as well stop Arya. So, you stayed away from us Jon, stayed away from your home because of one person. Did we not matter?” Brandon spoke quietly from his chair, lips drawn downward. 

Jon flinches like he was struck. How did years of invitations turn into neglect? Looking for clarity, he asks, “ Did you forget the invites I sent to you? The ones welcoming you to visit with me in the Riverlands or the Vale. You always declined, both of you, and now I see why.”

The King and his sister share a look, a silent exchange between them that he is not privy to. “What? Stop with the private conversations and speak damn you!” Jon rises out of his chair; the offending seat topples backwards. 

“What invitations Jon?” Arya murmurs. “I never received any summons from you. I know I was never still most of the time, but I always came home...to Winterfell.”

“Any and most of my correspondence from you was written in a hand that was not yours. I had thought to “look” but then decided against it, for if you wanted to truly communicate with me about anything meaningful you would make it happen. Just as you made subjects bend for your wife even when they didn’t agree with her.” Bran remarks, his eyes seeming listless as they gaze directly into Jon’s. “I still have them. Would you like to read them? Perhaps it will give you a clue as to who close to you has abused your trust. It means very little to me at this point. We shared perfunctory communication as custom dictates. You stayed away for your reasons, but I doubt in present times they mean much to anyone anymore.”

“Why did you stay away for so long Jon? You had family other than Sansa...you had friends too. Friends as close to you as Robb once was. If you had just come home, then you would have known about it all...Sansa...the girls. I wish we could have just told you. Once I had thought to, but we could not trust them to be safe with you there in Kings Landing, but if you had come you wouldn’t have taken them from the North.” Arya paces before him, her arms gesticulating as she walks past. 

“You never gave me a chance!” Jon rallied. 

“And why would we. All we knew is that when Daenerys Targaryen came North you had given our independence away for a dream your people did not share. Then you took _our army_ down South where so many lost their lives, and you never looked back. Afterwards you stayed as her part of her guard to keep her protected as she toured the kingdoms. A couple of years later we received news of your marriage and with it a notice telling us that you needed men to keep the peace in the Westerlands. You did all of this for a woman with a dream...and yet you didn’t think for one moment about the people who lost their families, who lived with a lifetime of scars, who bled for this country...you thought little about preserving their dream of an independent North.” Bran wheels himself towards Jon and Arya. He stops before Jon, looking up at him. Jon no longer sees the little boy he once was, but rather a hardened man. 

“So, I repeat, why would we think you would act in the best interest of your daughters when you didn’t act in the best interest of your people. If the knowledge of Sansa and her experience at the hands of the Lannisters, Baelish, and the Boltons could not remain at the forefront of your mind when you are in the presence of Daenerys Targaryen, why would we think to release our sister’s daughters, the only piece we have of her, into a situation where they would require you to protect them.”

Jon is vibrating with fury, partially at the words launched at him, but largely in part to the truthfulness of them. Was his eager desire for peace on the continent seen as his being truly dismissive of the plight others sustained? What would he have done if they told him about his daughters? Would he demand they live in Kings Landing? A large part of him would have wanted that, just to keep them near, but it is still very much a vipers nest. Then how much would he have actually been there, the thinks about how much time he has lived apart from his wife than with her. Would he have kept them in the North? It would have been what Sansa would have wanted, and deep down he knows that is what he would have wanted too. How would Daenerys have treated them? She always wanted to be a mother, but she did not like Sansa...his wife does poorly with not holding grudges. Would his daughters have paid the price? He thinks in all honesty that perhaps they would...in some small ways, but he also knows he would have taken steps to try to protect them.

Jon leans down and picks up his seat. Turning it to Bran, he sits down, the heaviness of the conversation weighing on him. He leans towards the armrest, his hand attempting to massage the punishing tempo in his head, his eyes on the fire blazing in the hearth. 

A part of Jon wants to move forward. Nothing in his life turned out the way he thought it would. He is tired of fighting. He wants to come home, but he knows too much time has passed for him to be welcomed as he once was. There were people gone and lost to him forever...he sees Sansa’s face smiling as she rides beside him. 

Jon was ready to rediscover life in the North with the new emotional terrain that now shapes his relationships with his extended family, his friends, his...children. However, in order to do so, he needs to look into his past. He needs to know who thought it prudent to assist in sabotaging his relationship with his family. He needs to know who added to the injury they caused each other. 

Clearing his throat, he sits up once again and looks at Bran and Arya. Arya expression screams at him to understand their perspective...her perspective. “May I see the letters? Will you confirm the identity, if I recognize the hand?” Jon sighs, every day feeling more weighted than the next. 

Bran just stared at him, his lips pursing even further than Jon thought possible. “Yes, on both counts.”


	17. Arya Stark's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Arya took in Jon’s visage. The man seated before her seemed to age even more before her eyes. A bone-weary tiredness that appeared attached to his very core. Jon always looked to have the weight of the world on his shoulders, and being a King has not alleviated any of those burdens. 

“Arya, would you please get the small chest from my desk?” Standing to do her King’s bidding she find the small wooden chest. Resting on her haunches, she opens a small compartment inside the table. Eye to eye with the item, she pauses before she reaches for the rosewood box with a carving of a wolf that shared Lady’s likeness. Once this container served as a sewing kit for her sister, housing the tools of her favorite hobby, while now it stored the letters received by over the years by Jon.

Walking back towards the men, she finds herself not wanting to part with the box. She doesn’t see how the contents of the letters will matter when measured by the bigger issues, for there seem to be two at hand...Jon and Sansa plus Jon and the Stark siblings. All these letters prove is that once again the South wasn’t a good place for a Stark, an untrustworthy space, still a viper nest it had always been. Nothing had really changed like Jon tried to make them to believe. 

She hands the small chest to Jon, returning to her own seat, feeling overly parched she finishes her ale in a couple of long swallows. Jon hasn’t looked at her. His eyes still on the box in his hand. Arya can’t help but watch how he reverently touches the delicate carving; his eyes take on a faraway look...a glassy sheen coats his eyes causing him to blink rapidly...followed by a trembled exhale.

Arya wants to remain unaffected by Jon, but as angry as she is with him for staying South, for wasting so much of his life on a purpose that barely benefited a small few, for forgetting he was a Stark...and what that meant. Their relationship was different, hers and Jon’s, and he seemed to forget that. In hindsight she supposes it makes it easier to assuage her own guilt for lying to him all these years, because no matter how she chooses to justify it...Arya lied to Jon and in doing so stole away his right to raise his daughters and watch them grow. 

Bran seemed unmoved, his dark eyes tracking Jon’s expression. For all his talk Arya wonders if there is some part of the boy that resides in the man that feels a small amount of guilt...even if the deception was necessary. She thinks that maybe he does because he allows Jon his time with the box, for it appears he remembers that it once belonged to Sansa.

“Do you know the story behind the box?” Jon whispers, his eyes still intent on seeing the box in his hands. He brings it up to his nose as to catch its scent. Perhaps he hoped to still smell the scent of the woman who once possessed it. 

“No.” Arya asked after a long silence. 

“Sansa had arrived to Castle Black. She started to sew again. Not having much, she put the meager tools in small sack. We had some pieces of wood in a shed on the grounds. In the evenings I worked on making her a box while she worked on my cloak...though at the time I hadn’t known it was a cloak for me. It wasn’t much, but I wanted her to have something nice. When she came to me she had nothing, her life had been so hard after Eddard died, not having much at the wall myself...I just wanted her to have something good because I thought she deserved it.” Arya couldn’t tell if it was Jon eyes that were glazed over or her own. The bitter wetness clinging to her lashes, drops slowly making their descent down her long face. Not wanted to share her sadness with Jon, she quickly stands to refill her cup. 

“When I first handed her the box, she seemed confused, but once she realized what it was...and that it was for her. She smiled. It lit up the damn room.” His voice continues in a tone that makes her wonder if he has forgotten that she and Bran still remained in the chamber. “I loved her. Maybe not the way I grew to over time, but in the beginning I loved her as I once knew her and wanted to keep her safe. When we came together, I pushed aside everything that told me loving her was wrong...she was, or had been thought to be my half-sister. It didn’t matter. I could not make myself feel differently.”

He sniffs, and she turns to him wiping the wet tracks on his face. The moment feeling too intimate, Arya looks back to Bran and he seems lost in Jon’s words, not able to continue taking all these emotions in...she returns her attention back to her ale. “When I returned from Dragonstone, Sansa just cut me off...and I do not mean from physical intimacy. She detached herself from me. I understood her ire and I thought in time she would forgive me. I thought we loved each other enough, but it seems I calculated wrong. I know that in time I married another, built a life with another, and till this day I still care for another...in my own way.” His voice tapers off in a way that confirms for Arya what she already suspected of his royal marriage. “Even with all of that being true, I still could not make myself _stop_ loving Sansa. I miss her in a way that words cannot give justice to. I understand if you may never be able to understand why I stayed South. I understand if you can’t forgive me for all my flawed choices. I can even understand if you don’t believe me. I really do...but I need you to know that the loss of her was something I never anticipated, and I never foresaw how broken my future would be without her.”

“You’re a not alone in that feeling Jon Snow. That brokenness is something we all are intimately aware of.” Bran murmurs, voicing her own sentiment. Sometimes she wonders how the loss of the sister who separated herself from the pack when they were children would be the source of the biggest fracture to their sense of self...as individuals and as a family.

“Did I ever have a chance? When I left I wrote her, did she ever receive my letters? Was she gone before the first raven arrived?” Arya had to close her eyes, hoping it would offset the discomfort of hearing pain in Jon’s voice. 

“She did not stay long after you left. Sansa headed back over the Wall with the Free Folk. She received one letter before she left, but after that...no. Those letters are in that box.” Bran replied with a nod to the item in Jon’s hand. Inhaling so deeply that his breath trembled, Bran continued. “When you wrote me asking about her...” His pause alerts Arya to brace herself for what was to be said next? “...she had already passed.”

“Hmmmm...making Sansa no longer my concern.” Jon looked up at Brandon and all Arya could feel was this searing heat...this hatred burning through his gaze. 

“I knew not what to say, Jon. My sister was gone. She left behind two babes. I had another sister standing in as their mother...who was there when she died and was in mourning herself. All Sansa asked of us was to protect her children. She entrusted that Arya would teach them what they needed to know to physically do that, and she entrusted me to teach them about the past, to understand their gifts, and to use those abilities to protect themselves. You cannot blame us for taking precaution against something you, at that time, could not see clearly. We know we betrayed you, but the reason was worth the cost, and now that you are finally free from the burdens of fighting for your wife’s initiatives, it is okay to be satisfied with the end result as well.”

Jon scoffs at Bran. “I am supposed to be alright with this Bran.”

“No, Jon. You just have to figure out how to move beyond it. We all had too. We all had to make sense of the ‘why’s’ of what we did what we had knowing it would hurt you in the end. The girls needed us. The North needed direction too. If you want to get to know your daughters, you best get on to figuring out how to get passed it.” Arya surmises, she looks down at her cup and notices that once again it is empty. Gods she needs another drink. Instead of refilling her cup, she chooses to look at Jon...really look at Jon. So much time has passed and they are no longer the people they once were. If she saw herself now, would she recognize her younger self? She is so far from who she once was, but she isn’t alone, for the men in this room share very little with the boys they once were. She has grown with Bran, they have grown older together, but in the light of day she doesn’t really know Jon...not as she once did, and it scares her to think that the unique bond they once shared will forever remain in only their memories.


	18. King Brandon Stark's POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bran highlights the extent of Jon's foolishness, and reveals a betrayal to Jon by one he once called friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

King Brandon Stark can’t help but notice how Jon’s fingers tighten against the box in his hand as Arya told him he needed to learn _ “how to move on”_. Her words are true, but in all fairness they are harder to live. They had years to grow with the understanding of Sansa’s loss, the birth of two children, the return of more direwolves and dragons, and the building of a stronger Northern realm than the Starks had seen since Bran the Builder. 

Jon had a couple of moons, and he had things to learn that have not come up as of yet. He would have to learn about his daughters and who they are, come to terms with what he knew of the people from his past, and decide how he wants to proceed moving forward. The light has shown and there is no way to hide it. The path he thinks his cousin will choose will be one fraught with betrayals on all sides, and he wonders if the man before him is strong enough to withstand such truths. 

“I cannot answer whether our reality is acceptable. What I can say is that before you can consider how you want to handle this new reality you find yourself in, then you must consider all the factors what caused people to act in the matter that they did? While I know you are not the demon you might think we believe you to be, note that you are not blameless in this Jon. Listen to what we...and other’s will tell you regarding their choices to keep their lives, and in turn part of your life a secret.”

“Those letters may serve as another factor.” Arya murmurs, her eyes staring at Jon, no longer angry...just disappointed.

Bran observes the subtle tells that this moment is harder on Jon than he would like to express. As Jon clears his throat, he begins to open the brass clasp that held the chest closed. The reverence in which Jon disposes on the act makes Bran wish he had given his cousin privacy. Having witness more of Jon and Sansa’s intimate moments, he know how much this moment is costing Jon and he’s angry with himself for feeling sympathy for him. The things Bran knows...if he could count the number of times he cursed his skill. It was a burden most of the time. 

Jon carefully pulled out small stacks held together with a ribbon. He noticed what they were immediately. “I thought you said she only received one. All of these have been opened. Did you read them?” Jon asked, a flush crept in his voice. 

“No. I had no cause to, but the twins have. There is much they know about Sansa and about you.” Jon closed his eyes for a long while following Bran’s words. When he opened his eyes, their seemed to be a settled pain in his orbs. One Bran remembered from when they were boys and Theon would call him a bastard. 

Jon pulls out another stack of letters. The ones addressed to Bran. He reads several missives and each time he reads another correspondence his face gets darker...much like a raging storm over a violent sea. This Bran thinks, this is not the wolf...so this is what a dragon looks like. Bran knows what the wolf looks like. He’s seen it in Jon before, in Sansa and Arya, and at times in himself...it is that of the ruthless protector. No, this that is rising before his eyes is not a wolf. What’s rising in Jon Snow is a dragon bent on vengeance...and may the Gods help the soul who is at the mercy of him. 

Bran looks over at Arya. They share a twin look of concern, for both knew this reveal would be difficult for Jon to acknowledge, they hadn’t planned on sharing a chamber with a dragon at the end of it. “Why would he have done this? He always spoke of her with such respect and affection. Why?” Jon roars, the door slams open as Bran’s Kingsguard enters the room, weapons drawn. 

“It is alright. King Jon was just given some distressing news. Please leave us be.” Bran instructs his men to leave. Once they are alone Jon turns to Bran once again. 

“I do not need you to confirm what I already know. All I want to know is why? What was his motivation?” The rage vibrating from Jon heartens Bran, for Jon has been played false because he has allowed himself to be. Bran remembers a recollection from one of his travels into the past with the twins...a time when Sansa gave Jon a warning, clearly one he didn’t heed..._ “You need to be smarter than Father, smarter than Robb.” _ He didn’t heed her then, and once again like the Starks before him...he lost his head...not literally, of course...but he took leave of his senses. 

Bran nods to Jon. “Shortly after you arrived from Dragonstone, Davos had suggested a marriage pact between you and Daenerys. This was before I had shared your parental history. At first he dismissed it, but when you flew on her dragon, he knew...as did Varys. They discussed the realm’s likelihood of following a Targaryen male raised in the North versus a Targaryen raised as a foreigner. In the end Davos’s idea sounded like the best option. So, he took liberties and created false misunderstandings. I think if you remember your time here you can imagine which ones I speak of. These falsehoods added to Sansa’s feelings and informed her decision to push you away. You as the unknowing fool, kept telling her...”

“She was acting irrational and not thinking of the long-term benefit of the realm. I told Sansa that Daenerys would be a good Queen...a good Queen for all of us.” Jon’s clearly lost in his memories.

“Yes...and Sansa was working with different intel. She pushed you away and then you left. It wasn’t until later...when she took away my ban on looking into “family” that I was able to see this full picture.” Bran surmises.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Then when you knew. Why did you continue to allow this duplicity to continue?” Jon yells back at Bran.

“What would you have done, Jon? Daenerys was not to blame and at that point you came to truly care for her. You still couldn’t see her the way we did. We were not going to give you our sister’s children. Not when you seemed so full of “her.” Daenerys was all you acted for...finding a purpose in another because Sansa pushed you away. No do not wave me off. You know it’s true. We know it’s true. Your bloody wife knows it true...and so did Tyrion Lannister, and he used it.” 

Jon whipped around to stand by the fire. His body quaking. Arya stands to fill a cup of goat’s milk they have from Tormund’s last visit. She passes it to Jon, who consumes it in one long swallow. 

“I need...I need to...space from here.” Jon’s words seemed incoherent, but both the Stark’s knew he needed to think for much was unveiled today.

“Go Jon. You’ll find the place much like you left it.” Arya tells Jon, she lays her hand on his back, her voice soft.

Bran nods in agreement. “You might be surprise to find that there is little anger and hatred towards you by the ones you love...but rather you’ll find hurt leading the way. Take your time, do your thinking, for you have much to address.”

Jon nods and begins to exit the room. He turns and retrieves the box. Looking up at Arya and then Bran, he asks, “Where is she?”

The all know of whom he speaks. 

“She’s in the crypts. Next to your mother.” Arya whispers.

“May I go see her?” Jon takes a long deep swallow, body braced for the answer to be...no. 

“Of course, Jon. Family is always allowed in the crypts of Winterfell.” Bran allows, he nods to Jon once again as the older man leaves the room.

Looking back at his sister, Bran mutters, “This is far from over, Arya.”

She shakes her head solemnly. “No Bran. I think this is just the beginning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this stack of new chapters...I will probably be away for about a week so hopefully this will tie you over. Next couple of chapters has us heading back towards the twins direction. 
> 
> Until next time...happy reading!


	19. Johan Tarth's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing!

Johan Tarth was a fairly rudimentary beast. He was simple in his wants. Raised by a mother who tolerated very little dishonesty and prized acting in the best interest of others led to a very black and white childhood. The one thing he is very aware of is how his mother found it in herself to bend just enough to love a man who was so settled on the other side of those boundaries. 

His knowledge of who is father was wasn’t a secret to Johan. Jaime Lannister was a flawed man, who lived by a code known only to few. In the end he lived and died on his own terms...though it seems those terms could change, as did the man. Johan recognizes those parts of his father in him. They are tempered by the parts of his mother that contribute to the make-up of the man he’s become. A man who is currently his grandfather’s heir to his House.

Johan chooses to embrace the lighter, less dangerous traits of his father...such as his lighthearted levity. A source of frustration for some, especially his mother for she always found it hard to keep her own visage stoic during his more outlandish behaviors. As he looks to the woman laying down beside him in a field of flowers, Johan thinks that it is time to use his particular annoying skill for good.

“I was thinking...don’t.” He sends her an arched look before she could even get her tease out. Alysanne laughed and laid her head back on his chest. “As I was saying, I was thinking...” he paused for dramatic effect, “that maybe the four of us should go to Tarth. My mother would love to see you, and it has been some time since you have visited.”

He feels Alysanne’s arms pulling him closer...for comfort or warmth, he is not yet sure. Perhaps it’s a mixture of both. “I would love to go. The water must be so warm now...warm enough for us to swim.”

“Yes, it is. I was coming back from a swim when my mother gave me leave to come.” He clears his voice, measured as he dips his foot into some familiar conversational waters. “My grandfather also expressed interest in seeing you again.” He looks down to meet the gray eyes that are now looking at him. “You know...on a more permanent basis.”

“Is this your next attempt at proposing marriage, Johan Tarth?” She smiles up at him. 

“Well my last two attempts didn’t garner me the answer I had hoped for. I thought I’d try using my grandfather’s desire to have you as a permanent member of our family. At times I do think you like the old man better than you do me...” his voice trails off with a tease.

Alysanne sits up, turning her body to look at him. “You know my decline of your proposal has nothing to do with how much I love you. You know how much I love you...your ego needs no further feeding in that regards.” She shakes her head at him, her eyes teasing him. It makes him happy to know that he can make this normal stoic woman laugh...he brings out her playful side that is seen by a select few. 

“I know. You’ve worried about Robyn...” he continues.

“Also my Uncle Bran and Aunt Arya. The truth was until we addressed the issue that was Daenerys Targaryen I needed to remain here.” She pulls his sword hand into hers, playing with his fingers, rubbing her own fingertips over calluses that have grown over the years.

“But. I hear a but...” he braces himself for another failure.

“But things have changed now. The North has what it wants. A life we’ve secretly built and maintained over the years. Daenerys Targaryen is no longer a true concern for most of the realm, and those who have managed to find progress in her initiatives remain united under her authority. The people on the continent are content enough to govern as they wish.”

Johan sits up, resting one arm on his bent knee, his eyes pleading with hers. “That they do...so what say you, Alysanne Snow. Will you marry me?”

“The Stormlands still fall under Daenerys’s rule. You understand that if I go, my sister will become my Uncle Brandon’s heir to the North. I cannot...no...I will not be a subject of Daenerys Targaryen. You understand that, right?” Alysanne’s measured tone explains her reservations more than her words.

“I do understand. I would never subject you to that. I was raised in the North just like you. I know what it all means. Your sister will be a good queen...as will you one day, and yet I still seem to want to marry you.” Johan smirks at her, as she pulls away, seemingly puzzled by what he said.

“Explain yourself.” Her eyes narrow, her lips pulling downward.

Chuckling as tactfully as he could, considering how it goes against his better nature. “Daenerys has no children. Her only heir would have to be someone of her own choosing. Now if we are being honest, the regions that remain are loyal to your father, not to her. Think about it...the Baratheon, the Tarth’s, and the Tarly’s. Hell, even the HIghtowers and Tyrells were won over by his Northern charm. They all follow your father. He has been the face of their monarchy for many years. He addresses and settles their issue. Of course, he goes as an emissary for his wife, but the power in their fidelity lies with Jon Snow.”

They look at each other, Johan can see her absorbing his words. He gives her space and time before continuing for he knows his love needs that to reason her own opinions. 

“When the time comes Alys, an heir will have to step up. It matters very little who she would want, for that realm will want the daughter of Jon Snow. I have no doubt about that.” Johan kisses her hand, his eyes never shifting away from hers. 

“I do not know if I want that responsibility.” She murmurs, her eyes latched onto his.

“My dear, you have been raised for that destiny your entire life, if as the Queen in the North or Queen in the South.” He shakes his head on a laugh, looking down before searching her eyes again. “I think your mother may have been a bit more long-sighted than we all thought.”

“Starks do not do well in the South.” She reminds him of words spoken in the past. 

“Let me remind you...first, you are not _ JUST_ a Stark...and second, the Isle of Tarth and its ruling family absolutely adores you. We would gladly go to war for you.”

A bright smile burst forth from her full lips, with a power that pulls him in for a quick kiss. 

“Yes.”

He jerks back, disbelieving his own ears. “What?”

Alysanne laughs at him. A full hearty laugh that pulls at his own lips. 

“I said yes, you fool. I will marry you!”

“Damn bloody time!” He pulls her close, falling back onto the blanket, the long stems from the wildflower’s hiding them from sight. All he sees is her, her gleaming gray eyes, beaming smile...this is the woman he loves. Gripping her head, he pulls her close as his lips devour hers, grateful that she will one day soon be his wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Johan knows his parentage. He knew Tyrion through correspondence but that's it. He was about 10 or 11 when Tyrion died. Johan is his grandfather's and mother's heir to Tarth, but he does have a claim to Casterly Rock. Jaime did not go back South to protect Cersei, he loved Brienne. Jon's POV will clue you in on how he died. 
> 
> This is how I picture Jaime and Brienne's son.
> 
> Johan Tarth


	20. Samwell Tarly the Younger's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Walking through wildflowers, with Robyn's hand in his, Sam thought his Lady was feeling much calmer than she had just hours before. Just as he was about to take another step, she frozen, her lack of movement pulling him back. Initially worried, his concern abated when he saw the soft smile on her face. 

“Alys said _ yes...”_

“Huh” Not his most elegant response, but he was a bit thrown. 

“My sister, silly. She told Johan yes!” 

Wondering if Johan had sought her help in asking Alys as he recruited Alys to help him. “How do you know?” 

“Like I always know. I feel it...now I see it.” Her smile sweet, but her eyes looked heartbreakingly sad. 

Pulling her into his arms, he lifts up her chin with his hand. “Are you alright? You know what accepting his proposal means for you.” 

“I’ve made peace with my path...you know this. Al and I were bound for different places long ago. The moment she told me Johan stole a kiss, and she didn’t feel the need to bloody his eye for it, told me then that he meant more to her than just a kiss.” 

“Aye...” He laughs recalling Robyn reaction to the memory. 

Both her hand's cupped his face, pulling him close. Her voice serious. “He is the heir to his mother's House and he has the strongest claim to his father's. Going South was Johan's path to follow. It always was. Besides I don’t foresee traveling the road of queendom alone. Our lives are too intertwined to divert us so violently. I will be the Queen in the North, but in time she will be Queen in the...” 

“South! You see this Robyn? Truly.” He can feel his eyes widen at the idea. Of the two women, both are quite Northern in his estimation, he think Robyn looks more Southern...until she's speaks. Whereas Alysanne looks Northern, but she sounds much more like a Southeron...like his grandmother and aunt. 

“Yes, but she was not ready for it. We needed to see Daenerys and our father. Things needed to be settled there in terms of southern authority. Now it is, now we can move forward. We can come forward. He has not hidden his intentions....Jon Snow will claim us, his people will learn of her. She knows this, though she'd rather keep such awareness to herself.” Robyn pulls herself away and begins walking along the path. 

“Do you think she’ll be accepted? She is Northern...” Concerned for her safety. While he knows she is a fierce fighter, she is someone he cares for deeply. They have always had each other, and if she is South, then how can he help protect her. 

“True, but we have Southeron grandparents on both sides. Also, those who love my father love him for his strong leadership and ruling style. He is a problem solver that’s slow to anger and thoughtful which helps him to be steady under severe stress, and seldom is he reactionary. Yet he is capable of much violence when need calls for it, and doesn’t shy away from executing justice. Much like...” 

“Alysanne.” They both nod in agreement at the clear answer. 

“And his own fathers...the one who sired him and the one who raised him...they were two men loved and respected in the South. She will do well there. In the South, Alys will have Johan and the Tarth’s, Aunt Arya and Gendry...” Deep sigh follow those words. “...and let us not forget our father.” 

“So, you are not angry with having to rule the larger kingdom.” He follows her, his long legs diminish the distance between them. 

“The South is not for me. It may be smaller, but there are really a new nation and with that kind of transition it leads to more problems, people, and politics. I might have a little too much dragon in me to make such a place home.” She grimaces much like she used to do when she was in trouble as a young girl. 

“Or wild she-wolf. Your Aunt Arya comes to mind.” Their eyes catch each others as they both laugh at the sincerity of such a statement. 

“Yes, you might be right about that. Not a bad thing to be in my estimation.” Robyn smirks at him as she turns around to look at him. She carefully places her steps behind her as she continues to walk away from him...never missing a step. 

“No, not at all.” He agrees. 

“Oh, and by the way, my answer to your question is..._ yes. _ She turns and faces the trail as she walks it. 

Sam halts his own steps, his mind seeing the knowing expression on her face right before she turned away. He wonders how he should play this forward. Does it work to be flustered? Should he pretend he doesn't know what she is talking about? Finding himself just reacting he bellows instead. 

“Robyn! You are supposed to let me ask first. It is the right of it, woman! That’s it...no more “seeing” me.” 

Robyn turns back laughing. She runs full tilt into his arms, he catches her body as she catches his lips...silencing him. As the need to breathe takes over their desire to kiss, they pull apart, their gazes holding each other. 

“I love you Robyn Snow. I don’t remember a time when that statement hadn’t been true. I’m a simple man, but I can see the value you bring to my life. It is not something I want to live without. You could do better in a husband...politically, you probably should. But I hope I am valuable enough to you, that you’d want to keep me for as long as the Gods permit.” 

Tears in her eyes. She pulls him in for a gentle kiss. Whispering gently against his ear, she says, “You are without a doubt Samwell Tarly the Younger, the man I want beside me...whether it be in a forest, a dinner table, a throne, or a battle. You are the most treasured being in my life. Of course, I will marry you.” 

“Aye?” Sam questions...warily. 

“Aye.” Robyn whispers against his lip, smiling as his arms wrapped around her. 

***

After having a late lunch with the Payne’s, the four of them begin the walk to where the dragons are resting. Sam notices the sisters look at each other before attempting to climb to their mounts, a question lingering in their eyes.

“So, who is going to tell Uncle Bran?” Robyn asks the small group.

“Who is going to tell Aunt Arya?” Alysanne considers.

The men look to each other, and in unison counter, “Who is going to tell your father?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Samwell Tarly the Younger...


	21. King Jon Snow's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a Jon POV chapter, so I'm warning you in advance...this chapter might bring out many "angst-y" feelings.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Many times, Jon has heard the phrase, “it’s good to be King.” As a man who has been a king twice over, once chosen by the North and again as King Consort in the South, he has never found words less true. In fact, he has found himself intimately aware of how limited a King’s power really is.

After he left Brandon’s solar, he needed time to think. Jon’s mind goes back to the past and he finds his thoughts settling on memories he can now relive with a new lens. When he first met Daenerys Targaryen, she appeared strong and fierce, yet sensitive and compassionate. She made it a point to listen to the advice of others before acting. A young woman, who grew up hunted and used by those meant to protect her, found herself in possession of the tools she needed to free herself from the chains that bound her. Rather than securing her own self-interest, she blazed a trail liberating those who found themselves subjugated, abused, and enslaved by systems that thrived on the horror sustained by those people. She stops the cycle that benefits the leaders who used them to make their lavish lifestyles maintainable.

When she arrived on Dragonstone, Daenerys had many followers...both from either side of the Narrow Sea. They all believed in the idea that people could be free of the emotional arbitrary rule of Cersei and others like her, allowing the localized leaders to opportunities to thrive for their people. 

At the time, his and Dany’s arrival to Winterfell was tense, and Jon expected that. Sansa was not pleased that he bent the knee, but what he could never get her to understand is that the North lost nothing. All he and Sansa ever spoke about was never bending the knee _because they wanted to rule themselves_...the Northerners wanted to be ruled by the North. That wouldn’t have changed. They could not live in isolation, so any choices they made for the realm were going to have to consider neighboring kingdoms. Jon never understood why the title meant so much to her. It angered him that she pushed him away for leaving Dragonstone with the ability to govern...just as Warden and she as the Lady...of Winterfell. 

Once they began to let down their guards, Daenerys had trusted him. She admired his commitment to protecting the people of the realm, calling him the “People’s Champion.” It is how the people of Westeros had eventually known him to be. During their time in Winterfell they met often, he show her his homeland by horse and by dragon, he explained the North. A topic she was interested in, as learning about other cultures at the time had been an interest of hers. After long days of planning for the battle against the dead, Jon found his family either engaged with other activities or ignoring him, providing him with plenty of opportunities to meet with her and her advisors. Now that Jon is aware of Tyrion duplicity, he can see the advisors leaving early from planning meetings or arriving much later as a calculated move rather than by chance. He was acutely aware of being alone many a times in Daenerys chambers, long after it was appropriate, both of them waiting on the companions who were to meet with them...people who never came. Jon would excuse himself, but clearly the damage was done. The word had spread of what they assumed was happening between him and Dany. Word that Sansa was privy to...her words seeming less crazed to him now as he recalls one particular memory.

“You gave up the North for love or lust, Jon. I don’t think I can bare to know the exact ‘why’...”

“Will you stop this Sansa! I love you. I did not give up the North. It is still ours. You are so irrational about Daenerys that you can’t see we lost nothing, but gained an ally to help us in this war and beyond it, should we survive.”

“You love me, yet don’t you find it unusual that you’re always are with her...especially at times when you shouldn’t be.”

“She is our guest and ally. We work together closely and often. She doesn’t hold Westerosi etiquette on the “appropriate’ roles of men and women. An expectation you yourself challenge as the ruling heir to your House. You have no reason to be concerned.”

“No reason. If what you’re saying is true, then she is unaware of a custom deeply held by the people she wants to rule. Even if I could pardon the insult, while she may not know, I can assure you her advisors do!”

“Sansa just stop! We have no time or reason for this argument! Most times you keep yourself scarce from me, yet you are angry that I associate with Daenerys...who does not know the North but who has come to fight with us. You are being unfair and unreasonable. ”

“But there is reason and you are now the one choosing not to make time for it, because _you think I am the one who is unreasonable._ You are a fool Jon Snow, a damn Northern fool. When you realize it...it will be too late for you to repair the damage your foolishness will have wrought.”

The recollection fades as Sansa walks away from him. He felt it so keenly that Sansa’s distrust of Daenerys was rooted in Sansa’s fear of the unknown. Her past made her prone to being highly vigilant, less trusting. Turns out she had more cause for concern regarding his actions with said woman in their home. A cause orchestrated by Tyrion Lannister to ensure that Daenerys made an alliance that would bring her the realm...and it had. The seed between him and his wife had not taken root then, but after a protracted time in the South, Jon grew to care for Dany. Sansa had been gone from his life for so long, his cousins too. When he married her, he did so because she helped his heart hurt a bit less. 

They understood each other in many ways, what it felt like to be seen as an outcast of sorts, trying to find your place but always under some kind of spotlight because of who their fathers’ were...though at the time he thought his father to be Eddard Stark. Now he discovers they were both manipulated, for he doesn’t believe that Daenerys would have approved of Tyrion’s method...at least not back then. At that time, Tyrion and Varys put up arguments for why they should not marry, both telling them that marriage for love wasn’t something people like _“them”_ did...at least not Queens or Princes, clearly a lie on Tyrion’s part. Now he wonders about Varys’s motivations, another man gone before Jon could question him. Jon knows Dany saw marrying him as her making a choice for her...because once upon a time, he made her happy. She would not have married him as a tool to maintain power...well, at least not when they first gotten together and not at the beginning of their marriage. The Daenerys in present terms...well she is capable of doing much to maintain the hold she thinks she has on the realm. 

Jon is jaded enough to recognize that he had turned into an instrument for his wife...the piece that helps keep her authority relevant. A sham. All of it, for the power left her long ago, and transferred on to him. He concealed that truth from her because in the end he thought her idea just, but he saw after time that she wasn’t the one who could execute it, as did Tyrion...such a clever man, so clever he had the good graces to die before Jon could separate his head from his body to inspect his mind a bit more closely. 

His muscle memory takes him on a familiar path to the weirwood tree in the Godswoods. He stands before the tree. The red canopy of leaves fuller than he could ever remember. Jon cannot tear his eyes away, as his knees hit the ground, a sound echoes in the wind calling his attention. 

“You are a fool Jon Snow, a damn Northern fool.”

Jon closes his eyes tightly to try and stay the burn that grows in his eyes. He heard her words, but he had not listened. She warned him but he dismissed her concerns all because he knew himself to be true, and that should have been enough for her...but he had forgotten she understood the people who had come to their home better than he did. She knew the likes of Tyrion and Varys. Knew what they ultimately were trying to achieve with Daenerys...seeing his wife as a pawn in another type of game. Ultimately putting their homeland and people in jeopardy...all they fought for to have been in vain. Sansa knew, warned him, and he shut the door on the topic...as he is wont to do when he is overwhelmed. He knows as he stands before this tree that he is witnessing his day of reckoning, and as Sansa predicted it is too late for him to repair what broke between them. He was too late...Sansa knew though, and she made a choice. 

His mind is taken to another memory, the morning before the Night King arrived. Jon had learned of his parentage shortly before and he was still trying to process it before he told her. He went to speak with her in her solar, they hadn’t argued per se, but before he could say anything...it sounded as though she was saying goodbye, and he could not abide by that. Sansa had sounded so final, just as she had sounded the night before the battle against Ramsey. Jon mind went to getting Sansa to see that he had faith they would see each other again, and he told her so, with his words, with his lips, with his body. 

They had not been so reckless at Winterfell with so many eyes and ears observing them, but Jon didn’t care. He loved her; they had been cross-purpose for weeks now. He needed her and in her eyes he saw her need as well, so they both took. But in the end, after they had dressed, she kissed him slowly...gently...her eyes cataloging him in a way he hadn’t remembered before, and she said, _“Goodbye, my Love...”_

Like she was known to do, she disappeared before he could find her, keeping herself busy from him for the rest of the day. Since the Night King was due to arrive, Jon knew that their conversation about his parents would have to wait. After the battle she celebrated with him at the feast, and he thought them well and fine, until she walked away. The end of the war council meeting confirmed that they were still at odds.

“I understand you have committed what remains of the Northern forces to her Jon. I said my peace about waiting, but you and your Queen will do what you think is best...” Sansa took a deep breath, her half-hooded gaze seeming colder than usual. 

“What is that supposed to mean, Sansa? We agreed, when we became allies, that we would rally to help her defeat Cersei. She doesn’t truly need us to fight. She has her dragons and her army, but once she has taken the city she will need people who understand Westeros better than the Unsullied or Dothraki, people who can speak the language to help maintain the peace. I know the men are tired. I am one of those same men. I am not asking them to do what I am not willing to do.” Jon objected, thinking they had gotten past some of this. 

“Hmmmm..._We didn’t agree, Jon. That was a commitment made solely at your discretion._ You seem to think removing Cersei from her throne will be as clean as you just described.” She just looked at him. “As I said Jon, _you and your Queen _ will do what you think is best...” She lifted her chin...looking down at him as imperial as the Lady of Winterfell was reputed to be. “...and moving forward, as _the Lady of Winterfell _ I will do what I think is best...for my people. The North thanks you for your service, but it seems as though you will be quite busy with your Queen’s initiatives as the _People’s Champion._ I think you will be far too busy to venture North anytime soon. There is no need for you to feel as though you need to return Jon Snow.” 

“Sansa,...” He tried once again to reason with her. “...why are you fighting what could be a good thing for everyone? She’ll be a good Queen...for all of us.” He reached for her hand, bringing her fingers to his mouth, pressing his lips down for a kiss. 

“I know you truly believe that Jon, but I don’t only perceive what you see. I understand the potential of what she could be...and it is not comforting. Queen Daenerys is potentially perilous to our people, and that is why I want to distance us from her. While I haven’t accepted the way you view your Queen, I have at least heard your arguments for. You have yet to try to consider her as I do. She is dangerous Jon. Daenerys is surrounded by people who don’t really know her, but love her for what she brings to them...freedom, power, wealth, violence, or vengeance. _She is being used and she does not see it._ Once they take what they want from her, she will be a shell of what she once was...what once was good. Leaving the rest of us to deal with what remains. This road you are on will not end the way you think it will...but you refuse to listen to me so find peace in your lot, Jon, and I will find peace in mine. Unfortunately, we can’t continue to be together in this, for unlike you, I will not bend...and since you have, _I don’t trust you._”

Jon remembers those words, how they felt like a punch. He thought they needed space, that once he had proven Daenerys to be true in her intent, that Sansa would agree that perhaps she had been harsh in her assessment. He could return home and they could try to mend what was so obviously fractured. But that never happened. They went South. Cersei was a bit cleverer than her brother, and his men had to fight. The loss was substantial on both sides. However, it did not lessen his guilt for he brought his Northmen...and others, like Jaime Lannister. He brought these men down to Kings Landing, after the horrific battle they suffered at the Night King’s hands, only to die in the South fighting Cersei’s forces. Something he confidently told Sansa they would not have to do for Daenerys.

Almost four months had passed by the time he had found the courage to write to her, only to now discover his first letter was the only missive she ever read. Jon wonders what she thought of his words. He let so much time pass before he pushed his cowardice aside. It cost him...cost them, time. Time that he could have been with Sansa. Did his words anger her, bring her pain, or serve as a comfort? His mind sees the words on the scroll as clearly as if it were in front of him once again. 

_My Lady, _

_I know I hurt you. Please forgive me. I love you._

_Your Ghost_

Jon sat down before the tree; he realizes that there could never be justice for Tyrion’s machinations. A man he thought over the years had become a _friend_, only to learn that he was the architect of Jon’s greatest regret.

Closing his eyes in an attempt to calm is breath, Jon feels as though the gods will always find ways to keep the realities hidden from him...until the revelations come too late for him to do anything with the truth, all at the hands of people he had thought honorable. Leaving him to wonder, if he serves more as a danger to his daughters. He does not want to leave them. Not after he has found them, but he cannot stay knowing he could be the source of their downfall. Sansa was right, their daughters are to be protected at all cost, and though it pains him to admit it, this still holds true...even if they must be protected from the likes of him. 

Once again he can hear his Lady’s voice traveling on the wind, _“You are a fool Jon Snow, a damn Northern fool.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An older Jon Snow, as I see him in my imagination.  



	22. Lord Gendry Baratheon's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Gendry knew she would find him when she was ready to speak. He decided to work in the forge that afternoon. The twins had a name day coming up and he had decided to gift them new weapons. Much like their aunt, they do enjoy a well-made piece, and he built a reputation of being one of the best. A status hard earned. It was never his lot to be a Lord, yet he has found it suits him to care for his people, but it was not something he was born in to. Forging weapons...that was his true calling.

When he heard the dragons’ roar he knew her likelihood of seeking him out would be delayed. She would prioritize the girls return over her need to vent about her meal with Bran and Jon. Gendry stepped outside to take a moment to breathe some fresh air, when he saw the sun had completely faded from the sky. Growing slightly concerned, he knew there was no reason to be alarmed for they were in Winterfell and Arya is a well-seasoned fighter...but still, she had not come to him. Thinking something was amiss, Gendry decided to search for Arya.

Walking around the Keep, everything seem normal, but he knew the arrival of King Jon Snow was anything but. At some point he would have to seek out his friend, but now was not that time. Gendry followed his gut and made his way towards Arya’s chamber, but it was a noise from Sansa’s old room as he passed by, that caught his attention. He carefully walks to the door, knocking gentle before pushing it open. There she is, Arya Stark sitting on the edge of her sister’s bed. 

“Arya, what’s wrong?” He lift her face to peer into the eyes he knows better than his own. They are damp, but not hurt or angry.

“Robyn and Alysanne have agree to marry Sam and Johan. They requested both Bran and I to meet in Bran’s solar to tell us. It seems like there is to be a wedding...weddings. It’s just another milestone, you know. One I knew would happen, but in light of everything it just caught me off guard.” Arya smile was gentle...bittersweet. That has always been par for the course when it comes to her sister’s children. 

“They are good men who love them. They know and respect your nieces, and aren’t blinded by what committing to them will mean. This is a good thing, yes.” Gendry nods.

“Aye, it is. They want to work on their wedding cloaks immediately. Sansa would have helped them. For the first time _ever_, I wish I had their mother’s skill. It would have been right to contribute in that way...as I have raised them. I’d call on Garnaa, but she is no better with a needle than I. I just wished I could give them a piece of her, made by her hand, for them to have on that day. All I seem to have are memories.” She send him a waned smile. “And most of them are not very happy.”

“How did Bran take it? I mean he is their King...” He inquires, as he pulls her to stand in front of him. 

“Bran was Bran. Sometimes he is their uncle before their king or king before their uncle. Appears like it was a draw in that regard, as it seems the young men weren’t to impetuous. They had sought permission prior. Though you are right, it came as no surprise.” She pulls his head down for a kiss...a quick peck before she pulled his hand as she walked to the door. 

“Wow. Married. A bit strange to think about it. I remember when they were no bigger than a sack of grain.” He murmurs. His curiosity getting the better of him, he ask her, “So...what do you think? Should we join them? Care to join me in the Godswoods.” 

Gendry smirks because he is aware of what his statement will provoke, and he is not disappointed. Arya pulls away from him, brow arches, eyes annoyed, lips drawn downward. “Not on your best day, Baratheon.” Her expression changes and now it is her turn to smirk at him. “Now if you’d like me to join you in the hot springs in the Godswood...now that could be arranged at your leisure.” She leers at his body as she saunters out the door. 

The woman is anything but inconsistent. Swearing never to be a Lady. Gendry is happy to have her in his life, and hopes she will always feel the same. He witnessed firsthand what life was like for a man who lost the one who makes it all worth it. It takes a strong man to try to move on, to try and find a semblance of a life when they’ve lost what they truly need. He is not sure he is as strong as Jon Snow, and frankly he could spend the rest of his life not knowing...just as long as Arya stays his. 

“The Godswoods might be a stretch this evening. Care to join me in a quick bath before dinner. I take it we are eating in Bran’s private dining hall tonight.” He wonder how much time they truly needed for a rinse. 

“No, we are on our own this evening. The girls extended a private dinner invitation to Jon. Of course, he accepted, so they are dining in their shared solar.” She smiles, as one of her long fingers stroke his tunic, from his chest to navel and back. 

“May haps a trip to the Godswoods might be in order.” He calls out, and smiles as he hears her lighthearted laugh trail down the stairs he knows lead to the exit of the Keep. Seems like the Godswoods are in his future after all...along with Arya Stark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arya and Gendry
> 
>   



	23. Queen Meera Stark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say thank you for all the positive feedback you've given on this story. I write the stories I'd like to see...and it's nice to know that there are others out there in the fanfiction universe who enjoy them as well. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

“So, its begun?” Meera Stark asked her husband as he sat beside the window, his eyes staring up into the night sky.

“It started when I informed the twins to head South. It was time on many levels. The North, along with the Vale and the Riverlands, are strong and completely self-governing. The Crownlands, Reach, and Stormlands had established Jon as the leader they had chosen to follow, and they have recovered from the wars becoming wealthier than they had been in a long time. But again, Jon protects them from her using them to their detriment. Considering that Jon had been working to gain Dorne autonomy without drawing Daenerys’s ire, much as he did with the North, only the Westerlands remained a concern.” His eyes pin her where she stood, she sometimes sees the young man he once was, before the Raven took more of the boy. 

“And with Alysanne’s marriage...” She pushes, hoping she is wrong about her husband’s motivation for allowing such a match...hoping love outweighed politics. 

“She will inherit all that is Jon’s and Johan will bring her the Westerlands. Part of the upheaval at the time was the lack of a Lord Paramount that the people trusted. Everyone Daenerys put in that position failed because the people revolted against their high-handed regimes. Then she placed an Unsullied in that position, creating havoc. No, the Westerlands want what Tyrion was able to provide...stability. Johan can bring that to them.” His voice sounding cautious to her own ears. Not a sound she is accustom to hearing when the Raven is in control, alerting her to whom she is speaking with...her Bran. He returns his gaze to the night sky.

“So, you encourage this match for politics? I guess I should not be surprised. Yet I find that I am.” Meera quietly admonishes. 

Bran whips his head in her direction. “Gods no. Not after what Sansa went through. I would never use Alys or Robbie that way. Never! She loves him and he loves her...and she will need that love...that support in the role that her birth paved for her. I cannot change her fate any more than I could change my own. She can see it for herself, she is most aware of it. All I can gift her is my support for the match. He is a good man. Sansa would have approved.” Her husband’s voice is seldom venomous when he speaks to her, for it seems she angered him by besmirching his behavior that he thought he’d exhibited in good faith. 

“My apologizes, my King.” She touches a hand to his face, she can feel the clenching of his jaw, the muscles twitching under his skin.

Her husband takes her hand, drawing her wrist to his lips where he presses a gentle kiss. “No. I am the one who is sorry. Her match is an advantageous one. It also helps that Johan and Sam fostered together in the Reach with Dickon Tarly. I can see where your mind would have been drawn in that direction. It’s as I said before, Alysanne cannot change her fate, nor does she truly want to. My niece does love him though, and he returns her feeling in kind.” He peers up at her face, pulling her down to sit on his lap. “It is not easy being a ruling monarch...” His hands fist into her hair, drawing her face to his. “...but there is much to be said for having a balm for such a person so close at hand.” He slants her face, just so, and consumes her...heart and soul...with just one kiss.

Getting lost in the rare time they can spend together just being Bran and Meera, and not the King and the Queen, is cut short when she hears the knock at the door alerting her to their evening meal being delivered. “I am shocked the girls want to have supper alone with Jon today. I would think they would have wanted to share a meal with family they are familiar with on the heels of such news.”

“I am not. We have known this was how it would end for both couples. We have seen them go from friendship to more. Jon has never witnessed a moment of it. They might be feeling out of sorts lately when it comes to him, but you know this was not always the case. For Jon does not know that though they are at odds with him now, that is not usual for his daughters. They love Jon. They have always loved their father. They want him in their lives, they just have to figure out how to make that work. Knowing what they know and managing what that makes them feel...I am luckier than they, I think, for while we share the gift of sight I have the Raven in me to help detour all my own feelings while they do not. 

As they settle themselves in for their evening meal, Meera considers her husband’s previous words. “Hmmmm...I do not know if you are the luckier of the trio, but I can see how it might help when our humanity overwhelms us.” 

Bran looks up from his plate, his head cocked...eyes considering what she just spoke. He take a deep breath as he lowers his fork. “My cousin is getting the chance to know his daughters as they enter a phase of being wives...and eventually mothers. He’s missed so much. I think this dinner is the girls way of having a moment with him...one that should have been with him and their mother. Since Sansa isn’t an option...they can still have this memory as the family they are.”

“The family without Sansa...” She murmurs sadly. This is not the first time Meera is profoundly saddened by what Sansa has missed...what her own mother has missed. It’s a grueling exercise in emptiness on the side of the child who continues to exist when their parent does not. 

Bran nods, his own sad smile reflected back at her. “If things were different, if Jon had visited earlier, they still would have been a family without Sansa. They still would have had this experience. In a way I think they are trying to give him, and themselves, the gift of a good memory...one that is long overdue. 

“So, you choose to see this private dinner as a good endeavor.” Meera inquires.

“Yes. I do.” Bran answers as he takes a bite of the boar meat pie. 

Contemplating her husband’s words, she finds them more hopeful than she was expecting. “I like that consideration compared to the alternative, Bran, I like it very much indeed.”

They both gaze at each other as they drift back into comfortable silence brought by a well-cooked meal and long-earned deep affection. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> King Brandon Stark and his non-traditional consort...Queen Meera Stark
> 
>   



	24. Robyn Snow's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Robyn Snow sat in her tub washing the day away. She is currently sitting in the still hot water, letting the lemon oil soak into her skin. It has been many years since people questioned the temperature of the water she requested. Robyn remembered being very young when her aunt told her that her natural partiality of extreme heat comes from her Targaryen blood, and that most aren’t built to handle such intensity. She remembered thinking at the time how sad it was for people to miss out on how wonderful the water feels against your skin, heating your tender muscles, leeching the aches away. 

Her current ache lies in her heart, and it’s a pain that the water can’t sooth. Today was a memorable day to say the least. Her father returned home after an almost eternal absence and she accepted the proposal of a man she has loved since she was old enough to know that a person can love people differently. Young Samwell Tarly. Just thinking his name brings a smile to her lips. She feels a warmth beginning from the deepest core of her as it spreads all throughout. At some point she knows she must introduce the man, who has asked for her hand, to her father. However, she thinks it prudent to get to know the man from direct interaction instead of relying on her witnessing moments of his life.

She sinks further into the water, her freshly washed hair resting over the sides as she lays her head on the edge of the tub. Her eyes look at the ceiling, her gaze focused on a small discolored patch above her. During the course of her life she has been compared to her mother and her Aunt Arya...Sansa Stark’s face with Arya Stark’s temperament or her Uncle Robb come again in the body of a woman. 

It’s Lord Samwell Tarly, her future good-father, who has always compared her to her father. She remembers the first time she ever heard that she was like Jon Snow. Clearly her sister looked more like a Stark, as their father did, she was quiet, thoughtful, people gravitated towards her with such ease. Robyn found it hard at the time to listen to it for she wanted something of him too. Sensing her need, Lord Tarly delivered. 

She had to have been thirteen name days old, a visit with her Uncle Bran had brought her to Winterfell and Lord Tarly had stopped on his way to deliver his oldest son to the Reach after a brief visit with his family. That time he would be escorting a young Johan Tarth as well. Alysanne was riding out into the woods with their Aunt Meera to hunt some game, but Robyn wanted to stay and practice skinchanging into her direwolf, Winter. As she padded around the Keep in her wolf form she heard her Uncle Bran and Aunt Arya heated, yet hushed, voices coming from the library. She sat on her haunches , head tilted towards the door, trying to look as natural as a massive wolf could in such a situation. Her ears focused on their words.

“Bran, we don’t know for sure if she will install an Unsullied commander in the post of Lord Paramount of the West. The thought is just lunacy.”

“Do you truly believe that sounds like a fallacy?”

“Jon will not support that! It’s an insult to the people of the Westerlands, and if they have any regard for the late Tyrion Lannister how could they ignore the existence of his brother’s son. Johan is a legitimize bastard, therefore he could inherit his father’s House.”

“I think Daenerys is trying to put distance between her and her former Hand.” Her uncle’s voice sounding more reserved that usual.

“Why? For what purpose does it serve...he’s dead. Hell, she’s the one who legitimized Johan.” Her aunt’s voice rising in outrage. She was right to be upset. Robyn was angered for her friend. Johan would make a great lord one day...though she’d rather he stay in the North with her and Alys, she knew Ser Brienne’s family needed him to be the next Lord Tarth...and that meant one day he would take Alys too.

“What’s done is done, Arya. Tyrion’s death was premature, but not totally unexpected. All we can do is wait. In time all will return as it should...all in due course.” His sigh sounding exhausted...her uncle always seems to let his tiredness show to only her Aunts. 

“Not all things. She’ll be always be gone...always.” Her Aunt Arya’s voice trails off.

Robyn quietly trots away from the doorway. She knows who her Aunt speaks of...Sansa Stark, her mother. Wanting to be farther away than she was, Robyn returned to her own body what was seated in the Godswoods. When she opened her eyes, she found herself looking straight into the eyes of Samwell Tarly the Elder. 

“Hello Uncle Samwell.”

“Bloody Hell, Robyn! You look just like your Uncle Bran. The eyes rolling...it’s a bit much at times dear.”

Finding the charming man, a bit silly at times, she laughs at the older gentleman. 

“Seems like I look like many people...” voice tapers as she wonders why it matters to her so much that she doesn’t take after Jon Snow in any way.

“Hmmmm...” Sam tilts his head, his eyes narrowing it. “...this feels familiar.”

“What does?”

“The expression on your face. You look like someone who feels pulled in many directions, and none of those direction were by your choice, and yet you feel as though you need to follow that path...though you also want to resist it at every turn.” He surmises, a kind smile spared for her on his round face. 

“Well that is very cryptic. Any chance for a direct answer.” Robyn murmurs, a bit confused by all the imagery. That is much more Alysanne’s preferred way to speak. Not quite my approach, she thought. 

“Gods, you are so much like him.” Lord Tarly chuckles, his body softly shakes as he tries to control his mirth. 

“Who?” She tries to get at an answer. Robyn takes a deep breath, tilts her head, her eyes boring into him with slight annoyance. That just seemed to send Sam into a full laugh. 

The older man tries to reign in his merriment. Robyn can feel the scowl on her face, the lines deeply indented on her forehead and by her mouth. “Your father, Robyn.”

His response pulled her back, her shock slackening all the muscles in her body. “What? My father. Other than my propensity for “brooding” as Aunt Arya likes to say. I am nothing like my father. That would be the other Snow sister.”

“No. I meant you.” His kind eyes pinned her, his smile always kind...and gentle. “Jon Snow is a man of few words, and you are a girl of just as many. He always prefers the direct approach, as do you. Your tendency to stay out of the spotlight, though it follows you like a beloved shadow, is an admirable quality...one that Jon Snow is very well acquainted with. Your mother may have been a master at moving the pieces on the board, but your father...he was the one to find the pieces. You have a way of bringing together outcast and misfits...you’re not afraid to reach out to people others fear...that is _all your father_.

“Really?” Painful to hope that he spoke truth, she could hear the doubt in her own voice.

“Oh, yes, Robyn. You are most certainly Jon Snow’s daughter. While I know you have the look of your mother, your mannerisms are so much like his, that anyone who knew him can see him staring back through you.”

Not sure of where to look, she turned away for she didn’t want him to see her cry. Her feelings are her own...and well perhaps Alys’s too. She bit her lip hard to keep her lower lip from trembling, but the tremors came to quickly for her to stop them. 

“You also have your father’s brand of stubbornness.” Sam murmured, his wide and looking upward, avoiding her gaze. 

That snapped her out of the river of feelings coursing through her. “What!”

“Your mother had her own special brand. Your sister inherited it in spades. You on the other hand...are all Jon.”

“How do you figure that?” She questions him...cautious of his answer. 

“Well Sansa was stubborn, she would try the direct approach but when she saw things not going her way, she worked around it...till she was satisfied with the results.”

“Hmmmm...that’s absolutely Alys.” She offered. 

“Yes, it is. Now Jon was direct in his stubbornness. If things were not working his way he powered through it bringing it to life with the force of his will...and to hang with those who do not follow. Sound familiar?”

Unable to stop the smirk from tugging at her lips, eyes still wet, but the need to spillover was gone. “Nary a clue.”

“How you can say that with the tranquility of a septa I will never know?”

Unable to suppress her laughter, she lets the sound fly into the air...safe in this space with her Uncle Samwell. 

The chilled water draws Robyn’s mind back to the present. She wonders if her likeness to her father will be a blessing or a curse. It is one thing to see him through green sight or magic, but what is the reality of two such personalities having to interact with one another. She looks like her mother, but she isn’t really like her...Alys is. Will her father like her? Will he like Alys more? As the oldest twin, Robyn has never had doubts about herself or compared herself to her sister in such as way. Her mind races with uncertainties until she hears her sister’s voice. 

_“He will take us as we are or he could leave. We are who are. No apologies, Winter...none.”_

She pushes her response back to her sister. _“Thank you, Sister. Sometimes I forget myself in the chaos of emotions. I love you, North.”_

_“Aye. Now get out of the tub...you’re going to be late.”_ Alys tells her before shutting their link. 

Not worth the effort to reconnect with her sister, she pulls herself up, and begins the task of preparing herself to finally meet her father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is what Lord Samwell Tarly looks like in my head for the most part...just add or subtract the grey depending on the age he might be in the story...a younger middle-aged Sam, or an older...lol.
> 
> So these are the "Jon" expressions I see on Robyn's face.
> 
> 1\.   
2\. 
> 
> and his laugh...  
3\. 


	25. Alysanne Snow's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Alysanne found her typically unflappable nature currently in a state of turmoil. In just a short time she and her sister will be alone and having their first meal with their father. No uncles, no aunts, no betrotheds ...just them and Jon Snow. To calm her nerves, she decides to work on another needlepoint project that was near completion, one she had started on a few moons ago. It was a sigil, one that she had seen not more than several hours ago.

Hearing the door to her sister’s chamber open, Alys continues to work on the task at hand rather than to seeing to her sister. “Are you sorted out?” She asked as she carefully inserts her needle into the fine fabric, a lovely piece her Uncle Gendry brought her from Lys. 

“As sorted as one can be in such a state. How are you fairing?”

Keeping her eyes on her work, she replies. “As well as could be expected, I suppose. We knew he was coming, and we know why he has come. This has been a moment in the making, has it not.”

Alysanne can feel, rather than hear, her sister walking towards her. Her voice speaks to her in a deadpanned tone. “Hmmmm...while I appreciate your skill in maintaining appearances under great duress,...” Robyn sits beside her, carefully halting Alys’s actions, pulling her sister in with her blue gaze. “I will ask you again. _How are you fairing?_”

Looking away from her sister, Alys rest her hands on her lap, the needlework forgotten. “Like you, I am nervous. While you worry you and he might be too much alike, I worry for the same reason, and yet...when he sees you, I fear he will see Mother and that will draw him more to you than to me. I know it sounds foolish for we are women grown, but I want him to see me.” Alys shakes her head, as though she is trying to clear it of the foolish thoughts running through it. “I’m being silly. All will be well. I believe it so. It will take some time.”

“Oh Al, how have we become so confused with each other. You may look like a Stark, but you look like Mother too...but more importantly you act like her. Then there is the other part of you...and me, that is uniquely our own selves. We can’t really guess how he will feel or want from us moving forward, if we don’t actually speak with the man.” Alys smiles as she thinks of her older sister’s words. She squeezes her sister’s hand in agreement. 

“True...and the same holds true for him, for he won’t know what we want or need from him until we talk.” Rob’s soft smile tells Alys that she understands more than she says at times. 

“So, what do you want from him?” Alysanne inquires. Her grey eyes searching her sister’s expression for a clue to her thoughts. 

“Huh, why must I go first? Equal turns.” Robyn counters.

“Equal turns, truly. This is a serious conversation, Robbie, not a childhood game.”

“Equal turns.” Robyn’s satisfied smirk makes Alys want to pounce on her, but she refrains, for she is a woman grown...but sometimes she wishes she was 10 name days again. Perhaps she’ll take it out of her sister in the training yard. 

“Fine.” Alys eyes bore into her twin, her expression...not amused. 

“On the count of three...1, 2, 3...” Robyn continues to smirk. 

Just as they always did as children, the both spoke their words at the same time. 

“I want to go North with him.” “I want to go South with him.”

“I want him to see how the North has changed...thrived.” “I want to see the place he has grown to care for...his home.”

“I want him to meet Sam.” “I want him to come with me to Tarth.” 

“I want to ride...” “I want to ride...”

Both women break from the game, Rob’s head tilted as she asked, “Do you think he feels it?” 

Alysanne shakes her head in response. “No...not yet. They haven’t really met.” 

As if of the same mind, the slip back into the game. 

“I want to fight...” “I want to fight...”

Breaking the rules once again, Robyn asked, “Do you think he’ll hold back?” 

Now a smirk pulls at Alys’s lips...a ghost of her aunts. “If he tries, it won’t be for long.”

She looks to her twin, and both of them burst out in laughter at the thought such as image invoked. A knock at the door puts a pause on their conversation. Their twin expressions drawn...unsmiling. 

“He’s early.” Robyn murmurs.

A familiar voice slows the erratic beating of her heart. 

“Allie, Robbie...may we come in.” Hearing Johan’s voice brings her much comfort, but she mentally questions the wisdom of his presence at her door when her father is due to arrive momentarily.

Alys watches as her sister opens the door to their antechamber. 

“You two seem to enjoy living dangerously, yes.” She drawls, her lids lowered, blue eyes appearing unamused.

Both Johan and Sam enter the room, each man carrying an expression for or against her sister’s statement. 

“We just want to say goodbye. Gendry has invited us on a hunt for tomorrow. We leave before dawn.” Sam spoke quietly, his voice deep and steadying. Such a good counter-balance for her Robyn, she thinks. 

Somewhat surprised at Gendry’s decision to leave Winterfell so soon, Alysanne inquires in hopes that either man could provide more insight on Gendry’s motivation. “Why would he go now? 

Sam sent her a soft smile as he put his arm around his sister’s waist, pulling her closer to him. “He said something about giving your father time to come home, to settle in before they are due for their own conversation. Lord Baratheon said he need to speak with your dad about their past, but their talk wasn’t a priority...you were, and he wanted to leave your father with as little distraction as he could.” 

“We agreed it was pretty sound advice...and then we sort of invited ourselves.” Johan shamelessly grinned.

Sam chuckles as he shakes his head. “And that is how we found ourselves on a hunt. Would you rather we stayed?” He voice sounding more somber at the tail end of his question. 

“No, he is right. Though I do think there might be a small tad of fear on his part to actually speak with my father, but I don’t blame him for it.” Rob responds. 

Johan walked to her and pulled her close. Out of the corner of her eye she could see that Sam was kissing her sister breathlessly, she tactfully looked away and returned her gaze to Johan. 

Seeming to know where her thoughts found purchase, he pulled her head towards him, his lips a feathered touch against her ear. “You are Alysanne Snow, the daughter of the Dragon-Wolf and the Red Wolf...you come from the man who saved a realm from the dead and the woman who is known as the architect of Northern independence. You are a strong leader who is a fierce fighter with a gentle heart, but more importantly you are beloved by so many people. If you could see yourself the way that I do, then you would know that you have nothing to fear from Jon Snow. I saw him when he got off his horse. That is a man who is half in love with you already, and more than ready to slay any demons that come to harm you...not that you need it, but he doesn’t know that...yet. Trust yourself, and if it feels right...let him know that you love your father. It is a chance so very few of us get to have.”

Alys kisses him in appreciation of his words. She knows Johan’s own pains about losing his father before he was born. Even though he can be maddening and frustrating at times, she muses, he is the man for her. He sees her, the quiet Snow, and for that she values him above all else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up I probably won't post till mid week. Until then...enjoy!


	26. King Jon Snow's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

When Jon finally left the Godswood he thought to walk to the crypts, but he was interceded by his steward. 

“Your Grace. A letter just arrived for you from one of...King Brandon nieces.” A young man from a loyal Reach House named Arthur Hightower, had proven himself reliable over the four years he had been in Jon’s service.

Jon halted in mid-stride, turning to look at the burly steward. “Give it to me.” Jon did not blink as he held the folded missive in his hand, with a waxed seal of a wolf and dragon sigil...one that looks much like his own. The men stand in silence, as Jon tries to memorize the color of the parchment, the flow of the script that shows his name, the weightiness of the letter, the hardness of the seal. Jon barely hears the discreet cough from his steward. He dismisses him, but calls him back.

“Hightower!”

“Yes, your Grace?”

“The next time you address either of my daughters, call them by their proper titles. They are after all daughters of a King.”

Jon watches the small smile grow on the young man’s face. “As you wish, your Grace. Let me amend my earlier statement. A letter just arrived for you from Princess Alysanne.” Hearing the man call his daughter such felt right to him. He was a King and she was a princess. Jon wonders if Sansa had predicted his fate. That once again he would find himself as King. It seems she knew much. “Carry on.”

The man began to walk away leaving Jon with his thoughts and the letter in his hand. “King Jon. I apologize for my disruption, but I have been asked to inform the Queen’s Hand of any declarations, such as, recognizing the princesses. Should I send them such as notice.”

Jon is not surprised by Arthur’s declaration. Daenerys’s Hand is a man she requested from Meereen. He served as her regent for many years, until arriving in Westeros. A former sell-sword name Darrio Naharis. While Dany had made it clear to him that she and Darrio had once been lovers, she made sure to keep their current relationship as only Queen and Hand. Jon finds the man does the bare minimum of his job, and serves more as a Master of Whispers than a Hand. 

Seeing that he has not answered Hightower, he replies, “No. I will await Ser Davos’s arrival. He will take care of such matters on my behalf. Off with you, Hightower.”

With thoughts of Darrio’s request pushed to the side, Jon once again looks at the letter in his hand. Jon walked back to his chambers. He wasn’t sure what the letter would contain and thought it prudent to be away from prying eyes once he opened the missive. Over the years he has learned to school is expressions, but he was not sure he had enough skill to prepare him to read words from his daughter...even if those words might be “piss off Jon Snow.”

Jon could smell a citrus scent coming from the paper, the scent taking Jon back to thoughts of another woman in another time. Jon brings the letter to his nose, he inhales deeply. Alysanne likes the scent of lemons, he thinks, just like Sansa. He wonders in what other ways are they like his...Lady.

His hands begin to tremble slightly as he breaks open the seal. Here he stands looking at the first words written in his daughter’s hand. 

_Dear King Jon Snow,_

_I hope this letter finds you settled into Winterfell. My sister and I have just returned to the castle in time for the evening meal. My sister and I would like to extend an invitation for a private mealtime between us in our solar, shortly after sundown. I understand if perhaps you would like to have a quiet meal in your chambers or with your men who’ve traveled with you. If you have the inclination to join us, then please inform me of your decision at your earliest convenience. _

_~Alysanne Snow_

Jon’s mind went blank. If I have the inclination? Of course, he had. Wrenching his door open, he called out to one of his guard to send for Arthur. Jon returned to his room, closing the door once again. He sat heavily on a chair as his eyes read over the letter. 

The firm knock at his door, and the sound of his steward’s voice pulled Jon out of his trance. “I have been invited to dine with my daughters. Please inform them of my acceptance of their invitation. I shall go to their solar shortly after sundown. Send for a bath, I have time for a wash before dinner.” Jon nods his head to dismiss his man. 

Walking to his clothes chest, he pulls out clean tunic, pants, and leathers...reverting to his preferred Northern wear. His eyes caught on the two small packages he brought with him, a hand reaching out to gently touch a blue ribbon wrapped around one of the boxes. Thinking perhaps giving them such a gift would seem contrived, he decides to leave it for another day. He was just about to close the chest when the castle servants came in with a copper tub and buckets of hot water. His thoughts return once again to seeing his daughters. 

Jon made quick work of getting ready for this evening’s dinner. Never considering himself a superficial man, no matter how many times Robb and Theon teased him about his “pretty looks”, but he couldn’t stop staring at his reflection in the mirror. He was an old man now, the foolishness of boyhood long forgotten. All he kept looking for were flaws or things out of place. Arthur drew is attention away, reminding him of the time. 

“Your Grace, if you do not want to be late it would be best if you left now.” The younger man inclined his head towards the door. 

“Yes, Hightower, you are right. Thank you. You can take your leave for the rest of the evening. I can settle myself in. I doubt Winterfell has changed that much.” Jon muses as he nods his goodbye to his steward. 

As Jon made his way to the family wing of the Keep, he noticed some changes he had missed before. Rooms that once existed no longer had doors but rather walls, and walls that had always been now had doors. A young maid led him on his journey to his daughters chambers. It seems as though their rooms were located where Robb and Rickon’s chambers once were, but the walls and door were all wrong. Safeguarding their door were two household guards, both looking at each other before looking at him. They didn’t look like the men Jon saw with his daughters earlier in the day. 

“Please inform Lady Robyn and Lady Alysanne that the King has arrived.” The young woman stated. Her back straight, though Jon could sense the young woman’s uncertainty as she tactfully turned her head, eyeing him out of the corner of her eyes. Did she think him a danger to his daughters? Does the North see anyone South of the Neck as a potential threat to them? Or does Jon make her nervous? Possibly all of the above. His own men not standing to far behind him. 

“Aye.” One of the guards turns to knock on the door. “My Ladies, King Jon Snow of South Westeros has arrived.”

Silence. A heart stopping, breath stealing, soul crushing..._silence._ Had they changed their minds? Jon would not fault them for that, but it doesn’t stop the pain he feels at the rejection of it. The awkwardness increase exponentially as the guards and the maid share looks with each other, while they avoid making eye contact with him. The older guard clears his voice, and tries again in a louder voice. 

“My Ladies, King Jon Snow of South Westeros has arrived.”

When there wasn’t an immediate response, Jon was about to attempt an embarrassingly inept exit from this scene, when he heard it. 

“Send him in.” At that sound Jon’s heart resumed beating once again. He thought he knew that voice. After meeting the twins months ago all he had done during quiet reprieves in his days was to replay their first meeting...memorizing their voices, and listening to them speak over and over again. He thought that voice sounded like Robyn...she sounds like her mother, but she has a bit of a northern burr...much like him.

Jon wasn’t sure if time had stood still or if it was speeding up, nor did he know in that moment if he wished time to move quickly. This meeting could be the first and last time his daughters may want anything to do with him. Sometimes ignorance can be the better part of knowledge...when knowing too much comes at a cost, and in this case it could be the complete loss of getting to know his children. It seems as though time caught up with Jon and he found himself entering the doorway to see two of the most beautiful creatures. Women grown who had come from his seed, who are the physical manifestation of a love that once was...and for him, still existed. In that moment Jon knows that it doesn’t matter if they want nothing to do with him, and this dinner is their formal notice. Being with them, if only for this one time, will be worth any heartache he might suffer afterwards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be a shared POV...the twins are up next.


	27. The Twins POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this is a share POV between the twins, there is a bit of telepathic exchange between them. To delineate those moments, separating them from the regular dialogue in the story I placed a symbol (§§§§§) to signal a transition, followed by italicized speech (the twin-conversations), and then another symbol (§§§§§) to signal an end to that conversation. 
> 
> Hopefully it won't seem confusing.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Even under extreme stress, Robyn and her sister always seems to come together to provide the emotional support they seem to need. All this done while looking as serene as the septas they have encountered during their visits with their Great Uncle Edmure. Inside though tells a very different situation, under her own fear and anxiety she can feel Alysanne’s as well...especially her doubt.

Trying to give her sister a reprieve and remember her own manners she addresses her father for the first time...well not the first time, but under a different context from before. “Welcome your Grace. We apologize for making you wait. Time seemed to slip away from us. Please have a seat.” Robyn gestures with a slender hand to the seating area by the roaring fire. 

She watches her father nod; a shy smile makes an appearance on his pleasant face. “It would be my pleasure, Lady Robyn.” He gestures for them to lead the way; Robyn carefully reaches out to her sister through their bond as they make their way to the chairs.

§§§§§

_ “Are you okay? You are awfully quiet.” _

_“I am fine. I just can’t believe he’s really here.” _

_“What do you think we should **NOT** talk about?” _

_“Gods, the fact that you have to ask that question, Robbie! Perhaps we should have spoken of this before we invited him to dinner.”_

_“Relax. I am jesting. I will behave, and all will be fine.”_

_“Ugh!”_

_“How articulate of you, sister?”_

_“Quiet! Pay attention he is watching us.”_

§§§§§

Robyn and her sister chose to sit beside each other on a long-cushioned bench, their father seated in an armchair across from them, his dark gaze focused on them. She noticed that her father’s eyes are so dark a shade of gray that they look almost black. She knows those eyes...the shape isn’t quite right, but that color. It is a shade she knows well, as her sister’s eyes turn the same shade when she is passionate or furious.

“I have wanted to meet you for a long t...well, since I learned of you. Our initial meeting was fraught with underlying tension, both of the political and personal kind. It would be foolish of me not to acknowledge that my ignorance of your existence shook me to my core.”

Robyn knows she works best with purposeful dialogue. Small talk is something Alys has a high tolerance for. She appreciates his directness, though she is aware her sister would probably prefer to slowly work towards warming up with each other as courtesy would dictate. 

“Is this something you think we should apologize for?” Robyn questions, her tone cautious for she feels like she must brace herself for his rejection. 

“Gods no! I regret not knowing about you sooner. I just have no idea how to proceed here, so I gather blunt honesty could be a start.” Robyn can’t stop looking at his eyes, they draw her in...the sincerity she see makes her uncomfortable.

Robyn feels the mental pull from her sister. She opens up their channel and lets Alys’s thought stream through her mind.

§§§§§

_ “How honest should we be, Robbie?”_

_“We know more about him than he of us, Alys?”_

_“Do we really have this conversation before dinner? Maybe we should move this to the table...chewing makes the mouth move...”_

_“...and the words flow...”_

_“Right...how deep do we go tonight?”_

_“I am going all in. While I want him...I want our father, but I need answer from him before I can contemplate spending more time with him...before I consider sharing anymore of myself. I know that is not your way...”_

_“True, but I think you may have the right of it, Rob.”_

§§§§§

“Honesty sounds like a good place to start, your Grace.” Robyn tilts her head in agreement. “Perhaps we should move this conversation to the table. I’m sure after your long journey, you must be tired and a full hearty meal in your belly should serve you well throughout the night.”

“I am at your mercy and grace, my Ladies.” His voice so Northern to her own ears she couldn’t help but to offer him a small smile. 

“Please join us then.” Robyn heard her sister’s words as she spoke for the first time since his arrival, her eyes tactfully looking at her sister’s face, taking in her expression...one she imagine looks a lot like her own. 

“Aye, my Lady.” Her blue eyes returned to her father’s appearance, observing his visage as he looked at Alysanne. His stare just as intense on her sister as it was on her moments ago. 

As if a choreographed dance, the sisters stood, and the King followed. The three of them making their way to the table set for their evening dinner. As they approached the chairs, their father step ahead of them, pulling their seats out for them, and pushing them in. The act was not a novel one for them, for the men in their lives have done this for them before, but for some reason this act...with _him_ felt so much more personal. 

While he walked back to the other side of the table, the sister’s returned to their private conversation.

§§§§§

_“Have you noticed his eyes, Robyn. They are kind, but weary...he is a tired man and I don’t think it was the voyage North that is at fault.”_

_“Yes. I noticed that too. Is it me or does he feel a bit imposing? It’s almost like he takes up too much space in the room.”_

_“He is a powerful man. I do not think he can help releasing such a manner.”_

_“Well I don’t like it.”_

_A mental chuckle rippled through. “Yes, but that is because you are used to being one of the most influential persons in a room.”_

_Robyn could not help but send her sister a narrow-eyed look. “I am not amused. Currently I am beginning to wonder when you seem to have acquired a sense of humor. It might be time to return it. I think its faulty.”_

§§§§§

Alysanne’s widen smiled, informing Robyn that her sister ribbing was successful. Ignoring her sister’s smug expression, Robyn return her attention to her father. As platters of foods were passed, they discussed topics such as old family recipes, and the Northern foods he had missed, their own favorite dishes.

“Growing up in Winterfell there was a servant named Old Nan.” 

“Uncle Bran has spoken of her. He said she told him tales that would make the bravest soul cower in fear.”

“Hmmmm...she had a gift of storytelling, aye, that was true. She used to make these meat pies. Gods they were so good. I don’t think I’ve ever tasted another just as good as hers.” A sad smile hovered over his lips; his eyes unfocused as though he were lost in a memory.

“We love those pies. Once when we were younger, Uncle Bran was helping us to control our green seer abilities...”

“You are green seers?” The King interrupted, he sat straighter, pulling slightly away...perhaps in surprise.

“Yes. It is an ability we have...among others.” She carefully spared her sister a look. “During one of our exercises we saw you and...” realizing she was going to bring her mother to the table, she paused, her eyes lowered to the table in an effort to afford herself some space.

§§§§§

_ “Should I summon her here, Alys?”_

_“We shan’t avoid her...she is our mother.”_

§§§§§

“...and your...mother. You saw me and Sansa at Castle Black?” his voice laced with awe and part disbelief.

“Yes. We wanted to know what the pies were liked, so we found Old Nan with the assistance of Uncle Bran, and we watched her make the pies. Currently the castle cook has the recipe. We shall ask the kitchens to make some during your stay?”

Their father just stared at them; a myriad of emotions were evident in his eyes. “Aye, that would be an unexpected gift. Green seers, really...truly?”

“Yes” Robyn confirmed as she took a careful bite of a potato.

“And you used your gift to find Old Nan’s recipe?” Hearing a smile as he gently probed further.

Both women looked tactfully towards each other before returning their gazes to their father. 

“Among other things.” The both spoke simultaneously.

“Dare I ask what some of these “other things” are?” Dark gray eyes pin them both, such rare skill indeed to hold them both in regard at the same time. A gift he seems to share with their Aunt Arya, Garnaa, and Uncle Bran.

§§§§§

_ “Well he knows we are green seers; we should expect he would inquire more about that. The concept isn’t an unknown one to him...he’s seen plenty of them, we know this.” Robyn surmises._

_“He’s seen, but he doesn’t always understand such people...the riddles they spin...they have always confused him and made him uneasy. Add to that our visions...” Alys reminds her sister of their father’s adverse feelings towards such people in the past. _

_“Are you concerned with his response?”_

_“You tell me you are not?”_

_“Not really. I mean we have not looked to deeply into how we will end, but I do not fear a reaction so horrible from him.”_

_“I guess in truth I too feel the same.” _

§§§§§

Taking in a deep breath, Robyn replies to her father. “When it was discovered, that we were not like other children, Uncle Bran and Aunt Arya made plans to teach us how to use and control our gifts as they began to manifest themselves.”

Alys continues where her sister left off. “At first we learned about what early life was like for Uncle Bran and Aunt Arya, their siblings...which at one point included you.”

“We learned about the reasons our Grandfather Eddard went South, why you went to the Wall, about our Grandmother Catelyn, the abuses our mother suffered as a hostage of the Lannisters...” Robyn shares, her voice measured.

“We saw what happened after you all left Winterfell...all of it...our Stark grandparents, you, our mother, our aunt and uncles.” Alys whispers, not wanting to increase the discomfort currently in the moment.

“We saw how you and Mother reunited, and how your relationship changed, your rise to being King in the North, the army of the dead, the Night King...Daenerys...and what occurred after that.” Robyn follows, her voice attempting temperance. 

“We also learned about what happened before. The moments that led to Robert’s Rebellion. Your parents, the decisions that drove Rhaegar and Lyanna, our Targaryen ancestry...the prophesies.” Alys declares, with a bit of caution in her own voice. 

Robyn concludes her tone a bit gentler, as she tries to remember that her father is learning all of this in one giant plunge. “As time passed, each new memory of the past led us to other paths we could follow. We began this journey when we were quite young...about 8 name days old. So, in short there is too many things that we are aware of to even begin to answer your question with the accuracy you might have desired.”

The King cleared his throat, seeming to try and find a way to make some sense of the words they just spoke. Aware that they sounded outlandish in their claims, they also know that their father is still of the North were such abilities hold true. They try to give him some time to make peace with these revelations.

He seemed to struggle with releasing the words he wished to say, for they could see his visible endeavor to speak, but deep swallows replaced the attempts. Alysanne looked to her sister and finding comfort in the mist of tense silence, but thinking of how this news will impact relations with this man as they move forwards...assuming they even could move forward, that is.

§§§§§

_“I think we might have said enough. In the future he will understand that when we speak of something that we speak from a place of direct knowledge...and not from someone else perspective.”_

_“Most importantly he will know that when we speak of her that we can answer the questions she left unanswered...questions our existence has forced him to entertain?” _

§§§§§

Robyn nods her head almost slightly in agreement to her sister’s last thought. Both of the women begin to focus on consuming their dinner for it seems their father is silently coming to terms with the news he just received. Just as Alys was about add more carrots and peas to her plate, she frozen when she heard the King speak, his voice rough and gravelly.

“If you saw everything of the past, then you know about the genesis of your mother and I. You saw it grow and change...” his voice tapered off. Alys looked up at her father, from the corner of her eye she could see Robyn doing the same. Unable to speak her confirmation she nods her head in response. 

“...and despite how it all turned out...I loved her. I still do. Your mother...” his abrupt halt to his words kept the twins eye riveted on him, neither women truly expecting to bring up his feelings for Sansa Stark in this moment, “...the forfeiture of her has haunted me for as long as I have been gone from the North. But I told myself that was an acceptable cost if she was content with her choices, even if that meant she made the decision to no longer have me in her life. The knowledge of her death magnifies this loss, and all the half-truths I told myself and so keenly wanted to believe have been for naught, turning what I needed to be truth into dust.”

The pain radiating from their father is palpable, and the sadness and confusion coming from each woman told the other that she hadn’t expected their father to continue to feel this deeply for their mother. Their green sight allows them to see the manifestation of action...but the heart and reasons that drives people acts can be hidden or disguised from them. For some, the heart can be revealed in time, as it was with Tyrion Lannister, but for others like their father the depths were unknown to them...until this moment.

“I do not want to presume to know your heart regarding Sansa. I do not want to impugn who she is to you. I see you and then I see her, but I know that you are not the same...you are your own persons. I need you to know that I want to know who you are. I truly do. I do not know what I can offer you...and perhaps my wish to know you is that one of a selfish old man, a wish that perhaps I do not deserve to have honored. Should you find that you agree, please take this one grain of genuineness with you..._I don’t regret being with your mother. We were not perfect. We were...are...flawed, but in that imperfection she healed parts of me I hadn’t known needed care. In the end, I failed her, but it wasn’t because I didn’t love her...never think that.”_

Robyn typically needs to time to process emotional conversations before she speaks, leaving Alys to gloss over a reply that doesn’t require much correction after it is spoken. But Robyn has had time to dissect her parents relationship over the years, so when she spoke to him she felt confident that the need to repair after she said her piece was small. Even with all this awareness for herself, she could still hear the tears in her voice as she was moved by her father’s emotions. 

“Correction. In the end you failed each other...but sometimes failure is needed to learn and to grow. We can’t always account for where life will take us. She hadn’t planned on dying, the Stranger’s visit was not one she received a calling card in advance. Perhaps your story would have ended differently, or maybe it would have remained the same. In any event, you both made your choices and played your roles as this path expected you to.” 

His dark gray eyes volleyed from her to her sister. A gray sheen in this gaze that she recognizes as a reflection of her own emotional state. 

With a quiet sniff, a sign that she was not unaffected by him, Alysanne tells their father, “Now your path has changed Jon Snow, the choice you have to make now is whether you want to continue on your current course alone or if you want company to walk with you...creating a whole new path.” 

The three share the same crooked smile as the look at one another. They continue the rest of the meal in silence for there was a lot to consider. After their dinner was consumed, they took their drinks back to the seating area by the fire. Each resuming the spot the had taken before. 

The King’s quiet, but resolute voice broke the comfortable silence. “If you are the ones willing to keep me company, then I say it’s time for a new path.” 

“Well, in that case consider us your new travel companions.” Alysanne affirmed, another smile shared between father and daughter. 

“You mentioned you wanted to spend some time with us. I imagine those words still hold true.” Robyn murmured distractedly as an idea took root in her head. Discussing emotions was their mother’s domain...while the Snow twins leaned towards their father who bent in the opposite direction. 

“Absolutely!” Robyn watched her father poured more ale into all of their cups. 

§§§§§

_Robbie, no!_

_“Why not? It’s what we do. It’s what he does. It’s what we understand.”_

_“True. Very well. But do try to go easy on him. We aren’t trying to kill the King in the South? Do take care not to start a diplomatic incident!_

§§§§§

Robyn does not reply with words, but rather with laughter volleyed across their shared link.

Continuing her conversation with her father, Robyn make a suggestion. “Good. Care for a good spar tomorrow in the training yard?”

The King laughed and for a moment Robyn can see just what her Uncle Sam had spoken off. Seeing it in a vision is so vastly different from seeing it in person. His reaction tugs at hers. She feels her lips taking the shape of her father’s, as her eyes crinkle in merriment as she unconsciously responds to his mirth. It was not conscious on her part, not at all, but it moved her just the same. 

Alys’s demure smile, so much like their mother’s, just seemed indulgent at the foolery that was to occur in the morning. She knew her sister to be right...they will communicate faster through fighting than with words. But she is her mother’s daughter, so regardless if her father and her twin rather use swords instead of speech they will have a balance of both. Lord this man was going to be in such pain by this time tomorrow, she thinks. Maybe she should request that a bath with salts is prepared for her father...readied immediately after training...yes, with the water boiling hot. Her father’s voice seems pleased by the idea of sparring.

“It has been a few weeks since I’ve had a good workout, but a spar sounds what I just might need.” He nods in acceptance. 

The sisters look at each other. Alys sits ramrod straight, her hands holding the cup on her lap, face neutral. Robyn sinks a bit into the bench, one leg crossed over the other, one hand on the armrest while the other brings the cup of ale to her lips. Both women eyeing their father. 

“Excellent.” Robyn smirks as she glances at her sister to see a similar expression, then her gaze proceeds to find her father’s. “I look forward to seeing the great swordsmanship skills of the People’s Champion.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up to the readers...Since I am on chapter 27, I will end this part of the story once Jon and his daughters come to a sincere understanding, reconciliation...and some bonding. I might need to take a small break after that, but when I come back I will conclude the series with one more part, which will address the political implications of him recognizing such a relationship.

**Author's Note:**

> Little Sam!!!!
> 
> Enough said :)


End file.
